Sanctuary
by Magda Jan Brown
Summary: As Daine and Numair recover from the nightmare of Carthak, Tortall opens its borders to allies in the creation of a new haven for magical learning and exchange. Yet even if they can share their magic and experience, will they learn to share each other?
1. Return

A/N: This is set immediately after _The Emperor Mage, _and re-writes from that point onwards_. _

Disclaimer: I remain in awe, and in ownership of little else except my own body parts;-)

**Chapter 1: Return**

_Three days._ Three days she had been back on solid ground, and yet her legs still felt like rubber, her stomach still queasy with their ship's unsteady motion. The girl known as Daine sighed, and patted her mare affectionately with one hand as she reached absentmindedly for an apple with the other.

'You wouldn't have liked it much,' she offered. The mare known as Cloud snorted her agreement between bites. _That is because I am a creature of the flat plains, _not _the marshy swamps,_ the pony cajoled her two-legger. _You might have done better to stick where you belong, too._

'Don't scold Cloud,' the girl protested softly. 'It was needful.'

Daine took a deep breath, her mind suddenly so full that she hurt between the ears; she saw crushed bones dying a second death, a palace wing in smoke…She saw Emperor Ozorne's keen, unsettling eyes, and she shuddered, thrusting the image away with all the energy she could muster. Blinking hard, she flexed her fingers, still feeling the ghostly shimmer of a now-returned magic at their tips.

With a shake of her head, Daine turned her attention back to Cloud. 'I did my part, as I must' she told her friend. 'But I _am_ glad to be back.'

_You still smell of hot climes, _the mare retorted, but was gentler this time, and echoed her reply with an affectionate rub of her nose against Daine's side.

Daine smiled. 'Worry not, a few weeks back in these stables and I'll smell as fresh as a Tortallan herd.' Cloud nipped at her in reply, as Daine turned at the full-throated laugh behind her.

'Still paying your dues, Daine?' Onua moved towards girl and horse, and Daine let herself be wrapped up in a one-armed hug, clasping her K'miri friend tightly around the shoulders. This was not their first reunion since the Carthaki delegates had returned, but somehow it seemed that friends greeted each other now with an earnest affection that had not been so apparent before their departure. Daine hadn't spoken much of her ordeal, but she had a feeling news had reached her Tortallan home, and friends, long before their return. The voyage had certainly afforded her, and, she wagered, her companions, the somewhat dubious freedom of time to examine the events of the past month. Perhaps they were all silently thinking about what they had come so close to losing.

The two women worked quietly together. This was no longer Daine's role, and hadn't been for more than a year, but she could often be found going over the horses in the palace stables, conversing with Cloud and the others, and keeping her former boss company. Now, as Daine combed tired fingers through Cloud's mane, she relished the simple, hands-on work. There were no dead things to bring to life, the girl thought with a wry internal smile, only ear mites, pulled hooves and the occasional tic to confront.

'Hmmm?' Patting Cloud's neck and moving to check the hooves of a nearby war-horse who patiently acquiesced, Daine peered over at her friend. 'Sorry, my mind was many moons away. What did you say?'

'I said I don't pay you to be here, mistress. Your replacement keeps me on my toes and the horses on their hooves. What are you doing here instead of in your little bed, resting up?'

Daine wrinkled her nose. 'Already tired of me, Onua?' Her friend grinned in silent reply, and the younger girl sighed. 'I have been resting, and horse lords know I needed it. But I missed Cloud, and I missed the…'She stopped, searching for the right word. 'Familiarity?' she offered. 'I've been feeling a little lost, truth be told. In here,' she gestured around her, 'this is the 'me' I was even before I came to Tortall, just…me 'n Cloud, and the herd, before I got dragged into wars and magics and delegations.' She smiled wryly. 'Oh, I know I'm a whole different Daine now, but…'

Onua nodded firmly in appreciative understanding. 'We all need to be reminded of our roots. Tahoi and I go and play stick if I need the comfort of my past. And you have roots _here_ now girly, a home it feels good to come back to.'

Daine brightened at this thought. To think, only two years earlier she'd not had a home to ache for, not since Snowsdale. 'I told you years ago you're ours now,' the K'mir continued, her dark eyes dancing as she looked at her younger friend. 'You can't be rid of us so easy, even battling an Emperor Mage and, raising the dead and being kidnapped. What do you take us for?'

Daine shook her head at Onua's dry humour. True, the danger and the heartache seemed almost too far away to be real, though she was sure she had the scars to prove it true.

'Anyway, enough', Onua commanded, seeing the whispers of untold shadows in Daine's expression. 'Tell me of our tall and lanky friend. How is Numair settling in since your return from adventuring?'

Daine idly scratched at the ear of the patient gelding she was grooming, her face thoughtful. 'I don't rightly know,' she admitted, and then grinned. 'I imagine he's drowning under the weight of all that dirty laundry- some of it emotional,' she added wryly.

'You haven't seen him?' Onua looked surprised.

Daine shrugged in response, bending down to pick up her things as she waved away the questioning look in her friend's face. 'I'm sure he's had far more important things to do than accompany me to the stables. But…' she cocked her head to each side and stretched, awakening her grumbling muscles before she turned to go. 'I think he's had peace enough by now. I'll go find out how he is.'

With a smile and wave to her friend, and a quick scratch on the nose for Cloud, Daine decided it was time to find her teacher.

* * *

Alanna looked up. Recognising the sounds of someone clambering up the stairs two at a time, she was already turned towards the door before smoky curls and large, blue-grey eyes peered in from outside. The knight smiled warmly at the newcomer.

'Daine,' she welcomed, unfolding her limbs from Numair's window seat with a little effort, and extending her arm. The younger woman clasped her hand in a gesture that had become their familiar, affectionate greeting.

'Alanna.' Daine smiled, somewhat quizzically, cocking her head to the side in a silent question.

The Lioness sighed. 'He's in bed still,' she returned with a wry smile, speaking softly. 'I wouldn't be here, except that I've got my Alanna-the-Healer hat on firmly in place, or he wouldn't be resting at all.'

'But-' Daine felt her heart thud in her chest. _Shush_, she told it, not liking the bodily reminder of how she had felt in Carthak, the time when she thought he was…

Alanna watched in sympathy as the girl absentmindedly placed a hand below her collarbone, as if trying to push something away, inside.

'But I don't understand' the girl intoned, mouth drawn tight with worry. 'I thought he was unhurt. I mean, Ozorne didn't actually touch him, and apart from the voyage back'- Daine was aware of her teacher's propensity to seasickness- 'he seemed alright…'

Alanna reached out and touched the young woman's shoulder reassuringly. 'Daine' she broke in, before her friend worried herself silly. 'Daine, Numair will be fine. He's just exhausted. And, as I'm sure you're aware from your travels together, not good at bed rest unless he has someone standing over to remind him why exactly he shouldn't be up and experimenting with some new magical or intellectual endeavour.'

Daine smiled at that. 'Fair enough,' she agreed. 'Last year I had to threaten him with Cloud, when he wore himself out in Port Cayne. She had him backed against the wall in his bedroll, for all he glared at her to let him up.'

Both women smiled at the image Daine had created as they walked together towards the door. 'You do well by him Daine', Alanna murmured. 'Listen, I'll tell you when he's up and ready, but there's no need to worry.' She paused by the door as the girl began to descend. 'And you, youngling? She called after the retreating figure. 'How are you feeling?'

Daine waved away the concern she heard in Alana's voice. 'I'm fine, tired is all,' she called back over her shoulder.

Alanna sighed and shut the door, making her way back to the window seat before a voice from further inside the room caught her off guard. Warrior reflexes whirled her body round unthinkingly, to see Numair leaned against the doorframe leading to his bedchamber.

'Is she gone?' The mage stood, his face impenetrable, arms folded across his chest.

Alanna paused. For all his careful mask she could read the weariness in her friend's face, see lines of worry etched thinly between nose and mouth. 'Daine? Yes.' She could not keep the surprise from her voice. 'You didn't wish to see her?'

'Not yet.' The voice that replied was soft, a little uneven. Numair stared at his folded arms.

Alanna sighed. Her friend was not likely to reveal more without gentle prodding; she collapsed back into the window seat, making herself comfortable. She patted the space next to her. 'Come here, laddybuck.'

The mage acquiesced, folding himself carefully into the cushioned seat and gazing past his friend to the view outside. From here he could see the courtyard leading to the secondary Palace gardens. Somewhere, he mused briefly, were people wandering in the grounds without a worry in the world.

His friend's voice focused his mind, bringing his gaze back to her. He smiled in silent apology.

'What is it, Numair?' Alanna's violet eyes were quick, exploratory, kind.

The mage returned her gaze for a moment, his own dark eyes hesitant. 'I don't know', he admitted finally. 'Since our return I have been somewhat…panicked.'

'Panicked?'

'A little, yes,' Numair's lilting baritone was soft, as if he were coaxing it back to life after a long period of silence. _That_ gave Alanna food for thought- her old friend had indeed been quiet in the weeks since the Tortallan ship had returned for their two delegates, lost and then found.

'Isn't that to be expected?' she enquired gently, her own sharper voice softening to match his. 'Numair, for all that your simulacrum caught the brunt of Ozorne's anger, this last month must have been a nightmare for you. I can't imagine how…' She shuddered, not able to vocalise, perhaps even fully comprehend, the extent and depth of her friends feelings regarding a country, a ruler, a home, that had sought to betray him not once but twice.

She reached out, placing a hand on one broad shoulder, and squeezing gently. 'It must have been terrifying, having to prepare yourself so for the possibility of Ozorne's anger. And then for it to be realised…'Alanna shook her head. She had not known about the weeks of work that had gone into Numair's simulacrum, the creation of what was effectively a doll to experience his own death; and had she done, she might have questioned his presence on the trip, official pardon or no. The mage had clearly anticipated the Emperor's brutality, but she was not sure that the rest of them had.

The mage tugged at his nose with long fingers. 'We all protect ourselves against a future we can only fear, against any possible…uncertainty,' he replied finally. 'It's what we were trained to do. You're a knight, Alanna. A warrior. You know that.'

'Perhaps,' the Lioness agreed. 'We all walk into our own battles, whatever they may be, armed as best we can. Still…' She paused, thinking for a moment of the young woman he had just carefully evaded. 'You weren't just fighting for your own life this time', she added deliberately. A pause. She made his eyes meet hers again. 'It must have been difficult having someone make you vulnerable again.'

Numair sighed. 'Of course I was vulnerable in Ozorne's presence,' he began. 'I knew that, I…'

'Not Ozorne,' Alanna cut in. 'I meant Daine.'

That had caught him out. She heard the hiss of breath against clenched teeth.

'Daine?' Numair's voice caught in his throat as he brought his eyes abruptly to Alanna's own. In them, she could see flickers of pain against the shadows he obscured even from her gaze.

And then they were gone. Recovering, Numair presented a face of perfect blankness. 'I'm not sure what you mean.'

Alanna snorted. 'Oh, are you not?' The mage was examining his fingernails with what seemed like great intellectual curiosity, and would not look at her. Alanna was quiet a moment. For all his frustrating evasions, she didn't want to expose her friend, only help him. 'Numair.' She reached out, placing her palm over one broad wrist, wondering at the heat she could feel there.

'Yes. Alanna.'

'You almost lost her,' the knight spoke gently. 'Goddess knows we all felt it, but I know how worried you were.'

'Don't, Alanna please…don't.' Thumb and finger were pressed tightly over the bridge of his nose, his eyes momentarily squeezed shut. 'Don't you _know_ how awful I feel, knowing that it was _I _who almost brought her to grief? That it was my unpardonable _idiocy…'_

'_Numair.' _She let just a little vocal sharpness return. 'It's endearing, this quality of yours, trying to bring the world to rights, but you cannot blame yourself, surely.'

'Can I not?' He looked at her now, dark eyes wide and open in their frenetic urgency; his voice was rasping, and threaded with disgust. 'Alanna, did she tell you that I went to Ozorne in search of her?' Her silence was all the answer he needed. The mage laughed, bitterly. 'I all but advertised her as a most attractive potential victim. Of course I must give _her_ credit, she was much more sensible than I was, though to all intents and purposes _I _was supposed to be _her_ teacher. She took care of herself most adequately, though it was no thanks to me…' Numair had to stop in order to take deep breaths, the words tumbling from him in agitated fury. 'Don't you see, Alanna? It's not that she has made _me_ vulnerable, but that I have made _her_ so! Mithros…'

'Oh, Numair.' Alanna sighed. 'You are her teacher, not her saviour. No one expects you to…'

'I do.' he cut in abruptly, before she could finish. 'I expect myself to look after her.'

'And you do.' The Lioness smiled. 'You have, and you did, and you will. I agree, you were foolhardy to speak to Ozorne as you did'- Numair was rolling his eyes at the ceiling in frustrated agreement- 'but we all have weaknesses, Numair.'

'But she shouldn't be _my_…' He stopped, abruptly, not sure how to finish that thought, as crimson bled through his olive-skinned cheeks.

Alanna sighed. 'You care about her,' she offered gently. 'Is that such a bad thing? You would die for her.' There was silence, Numair's agreement even if he would not verbalise it. 'And I wager she would die for you…'

'Which is _exactly_ what I cannot bear, Alanna!' the mage hissed. 'She almost did die for me, foolish chit, she…' He broke off, reaching a large hand up to cover his mouth as if he did not dare allow the words to run away with him.

When he regained control, Numair leaned forward in his seat, elbows on knees, gripping hands tightly together in support. 'Alanna, I swore to myself, if no one else, that I would protect her. You don't know what she came from, what she has lived through…' He shook his head. 'I let her down. I failed her.'

When he turned to her again, Alanna was breathless, wondering at the threat of tears behind his dark and complicated eyes. She could not remember if she had seen him cry before, had not been sure that he had it in him. This was interesting. This would be something she would ponder at home, with George, when they all had the time to think and breathe again.

'You did not fail her, Numair.' She paused. 'Though perhaps you will, if you allow your fears now to push her away.' She could see him flinch at this. Alanna thought of the various souls she had vowed to protect since becoming a knight, even before then. She thought of the helplessness she had felt, her own fear of failure...

'Numair, you have found, you have _made_ a relationship of great importance.' She nudged him gently with her right elbow. 'Be glad that you have someone you can be hell-bent on saving, I know many men who don't have that.' The mage nodded, though she could see the confusion still swimming over his features. 'It is terrifying, I know that,' she admitted. 'You know I would die for Jon…'

At that, he coloured again, looking away. 'That's different, Alanna, you and Jon were lovers, Daine and I-'

'I don't mean as a lover, Numair. I mean as a warrior. As a comrade. As one who vowed to protect him.' At that she gave a half-smile. 'We protectors have a difficult path to tread sometimes.'

* * *

The girl they were discussing was, at that moment, on all fours in the small former store-room she was happy to call home. Ground-floor doors and window were flung open to admit her animal friends as she scrambled through accumulating piles of clothes and half-opened packs all around her. Kitten was somewhere just outside; Daine could occasionally hear the soft inquisitive croak of her dragonet examining the many wonders of the world.

Putting her dirty things to rights felt something like getting her mind together, the girl realised with satisfaction. It was the superficial version of the 'housekeeping'- she knocked on her skull at the memory of Numair's term for cleaning up her magic those years ago- that had saved her. And it felt good, she realised with an internal giggle. _If Ma could see me now._ She felt…grounded. That made Daine smirk. 'I'm not sure I'll be all that _grounded_ for long' she remarked to the sparrow who was visiting, observing her from his perch on the windowsill. She was already considering which bird-form would take her fantasy later for her first flight back in Tortall. 'But there you go…'

At the knock on her door, Daine turned her head in expectation. _Numair_, she thought with a smile and pleasant warmth. She pictured him ducking his head to enter her doorway with more grace than should be afforded to a man of his size, sighing, as he always did.

'Come on in then,' she called out brightly, 'I was beginning to think…' She stopped abruptly, her face colouring as the door opened to reveal a young, brown-haired man with a broad open face and hazel eyes. A smattering of freckles rested under the slight blush.

'Lady Daine…'

At that, Daine remembered herself and stood, extricating feet and limbs from the piles of clothes around her. She brushed hands down the front of her breeches and stepped forward. 'Well, yes,' she began hesitantly. 'Or the Daine bit at least,' she continued with a hesitant smile. 'I'm not a Lady though...'

The young man returned with his own generous smile, and stood a little more at ease. 'Daine, then.' He paused. 'I'm sorry…perhaps you thought I was someone else.'

'Oh, yes, well….how silly of me, imagining I should know who stands on the other side of the door! I don't get many visitors, truth be told.' Was that true? she wondered. Perhaps not, but Daine was not sure that she could explain to this young man why exactly she had been so sure that it had been her teacher, finally coming to find her. Not sure that she knew herself, in fact.

Daine pushed these thoughts away. Her errant Numair she would have to deal with another time.

Looking up, startled, Daine realised that the young man was gazing at her in expectation, and she had been standing there in unhelpful silence. She blushed- what a pair they made, all fair-skinned and revealing. 'I'm sorry,' she offered. 'I'm not all here.' She half-smiled an apology as well.

'Not at all, Lady Daine.' The man smiled as she opened her mouth to correct him, and then thought better of it. 'My name is Perin.'

Perin, Daine thought. It had a nice, rounded sound, she thought, when he spoke it with his gently accented Common. 'Perin…?'

He bowed at her, half-formerly and half in jest, making her smile. 'A Palace clerk, m'aam. At your service.'

'At my service, indeed.' The girl smiled, deciding not to stand on ceremony; she flopped back down, this time onto the corner of the bed. 'And what can I do for you, Perin?'

Perin relayed the message and then, with a further hasty but carefully executed bow, left her to her thoughts. Daine stared at the now-closed door, eyes thoughtful. So, she thought. It had come to this. Already.

Perin's message had come from the King.

Daine eased herself to her feet and tugged absentmindedly at her slightly dishevelled hair. She never felt _ready_ for these important gatherings. Not that it mattered now.

_But we've only just returned_, an inner voice wailed, _how can there already be something needful of late-night Royal meetings?_

Well, practical Daine replied. You won't know until you go.

After all, Tortall was her home, and she had a job to do.

**

* * *

**

A/N: I would love to know what you think: do tell, and I will be a happy English bunny...


	2. Reservations

**A/N: This is a somewhat more necessary chapter to set up the situation for the story to unfold. As much as I'd love to sit and write nothing but D/N drama, angst and canoodling (!), I fear it would feel a little hollow without a dramatic framework. But much angst and desire are brewing, have no fear!**

Disclaimer: Needless to say…

**Chapter 2: Reservations**

Daine watched from her perch on a corner window-sill as important figures settled around her. For all her adventures over the last few years, she was not sure she would ever feel at home being privy to meetings such as these. To her right, the older Gareth of Naxen settled himself elegantly on a velvet-cushioned bench. To her left, violet eyes flicked rapidly around the room as the Lioness who held them moved impatiently from one foot to another. Lindhall Reed sat quietly at the back, Daine noticed with interest, one long hand propped under his thoughtful face. To the mage's side sat Harailt of Ali, and next to him Tkaa, who was whispering to the dragonet who looked up eagerly from her perch on the basilisk's left foot. Daine smiled. Around her others of importance continued to settle themselves, but of all present, Skysong looked by far the most excited; she clapped front paws together and croaked in eager anticipation.

Daine heard the padding of light feet on the richly-carpeted floor, and looked up as Queen Thayet slipped through the door to her right and stood by her side. Around them, the mages and officials moved quickly to their feet in some attempt at a royal welcome, but paused as Thayet swatted their gestures away with one hand, laughing as she did so.

"Gentlemen," came the Queen's honeyed soprano. "It's too late for such silliness." Daine grinned at this; she was not sure she would ever tire of wondering at the court's unconventional oddness, or its pair of warm and peculiar monarchs.

"It is I that must thank _you_ for sparing some time this evening," Thayet continued. She looked around, offering smiles to those who met her gaze. "I know many of you have only just returned from Carthak." The Queen raised one delicate eyebrow in a look of simultaneous wit and grace, and Daine sighed with envy. "And of that, there is much to speak. I hear you were most…busily occupied."

From the corner of her eye, Daine could see Alanna peer over at her with a wide grin; needless to say, Daine knew the source of the Lioness's humour. Thayet's turn of phrase was diplomatic- and a gigantic understatement. Thinking of her actions in the southern country, and the Queen's careful response, Daine's face was caught in an expression somewhere odd between grin and grimace.

The girl brought her eyes back to the Queen, who clapped hands lightly together. "Hopefully soon we shall let you get back to your rest, and leisure. But first my husband craves a word with his most trusted and important subjects." She bowed lightly and elegantly, and then, diplomatic obligations duly dealt with, withdrew back to the wall and sat next to Daine. Girl and Queen smiled warmly at one another before their attention was drawn elsewhere. King Jonathan entered briskly, similarly waving away the hast moves to bow and stand.

"Ladies, gentlemen…dragon." Kitten chortled as the King proffered one of his more handsome smiles. Lucky dragon, thought Daine with a grin. She felt more at ease already.

* * *

There was a stunned silence as the King's carefully constructed speech drew to a close. Looking about him at the faces wearing expressions ranging from mild concern to barely-stifled anxiety, Jonathan sighed.

"Don't stand there looking surprised, Gary," the king chided the younger Gareth of Naxen, who leant against one wall looking studiously thoughtful. "You've been a part of this discussion before now." The King looked around. "As have several of you."

Daine swallowed hard, trying to take it all in. She was _not_, she realized for the hundredth time, well-versed enough to understand the complexities of Tortall's political state, though she had, an inner voice countered, certainly _squeezed_ a lot into the last two and a half years.

Daine had read the hesitation in the King's eyes as he had spoken to them, so she knew he was prepared for concern, perhaps even an outburst. But she had also heard the stubborn and prideful tone in his intelligent voice. Jonathan had faith in his plans, and, with a shrug, Daine realized that was enough for her.

With effort, she tried to pull the various rhetorical and explanatory threads of his argument together, so they made sense to her. Firstly, King Jonathan was much concerned with the destruction various immortal groups had brought to his kingdom. Daine could understand that, she had both witnessed and fought against it first-hand. Secondly, he was keen to expand the work his mages were doing to understand both the ways in which these creatures had been brought upon them, and ways in which to manage the resulting chaos. Thirdly, Jonathan knew that the recent events in Carthak– Daine had blushed during this portion of the speech, staring intently at her toes- were reason enough to concern them all with the constant danger of lands who promised peace, but quietly threatened violence.

And his solution? The creation of a magical safe-haven, a training ground for magical learning and exchange that would, most controversially, not only accept but _welcome_ those who came from outside Tortall, even those, the King had admitted, whose loyalty to Tortall was as yet unproven.

There had been silence, but now murmurs warmed the room. Glancing up, Daine realized the King had been expecting this. He held up one hand, palm open, as if welcoming their views. "I know I may not silence the voices of discontent," the King spoke gently.

There was a pause, and then: "Majesty?" It was Raoul, commander of the King's Own, whose bulky frame barely fit into the chair that sought to accommodate him. "Jon," the knight continued. The King smiled thinly. "Am I right in thinking you mean to share our most powerful secrets…" he gestured quickly to Alanna, to Harailt, and to Numair, who Daine now saw against the shadows of the furthest door, broad arms crossed at his chest, face impassive. _He's so good at being sneaky_, Daine thought absentmindedly. She had looked, of course, but had not seen him enter.

Raoul continued: "…that you mean to share our greatest magical assets, our valued and secret weapons, with those who may prove to be our- _Tortall's­_- enemies?"

The King sighed. "Numair is a black-robe, Raoul; he is hardly a _secret _weapon. If you are concerned about attack, a display of our strengths should intimidate opposition, not encourage it."

Daine swallowed, hard. She had seen enough 'displays' of patriotic brilliance in Carthak to last her a lifetime. She was not sure she liked the thought of recreating them here.

"But your Highness"- it was Lord Martin who spoke now, his sharp eyes concerned. "I must confess that I share Goldenlake's reserve. You mean to extend welcome to mages and scholars from…Galla? Maren? The Yamani Islands…"

"Yes." The King's voice was firm. "That is exactly what I intend."

"But your Majesty…" A third voice arose.

Daine looked over the scene in silence as more concerns were raised, and combated by the King. What were his intentions, one official asked. Jonathan explained his desire to expand their own knowledge and, significantly, to aid Tortall's allies against immortal attacks, so that they might be stronger together. Daine nodded at this. _Yes_, she thought._ If we reach out a hand to them that need us, teaching them how to look for signs, and fight back, we might rely on them, too, to help us if we need it. _

The discussion, mainly between senior officials and the King, continued for almost an hour; Jonathan, Daine noticed with admiration, remained firm and unwavering.

Finally, a gently voice emerged from the back of the room. Lindhall Reed was not a loud man, but he drew silence from the crowd. "Your Majesty, if I may…" The King smiled, and nodded. "Forgive me, a humble outsider, for entering the discussion of your own many learned men…" Now Daine smiled too. Numair's former teacher was fiercely intelligent, but he was also genuinely and disarmingly charming.

"You are one of us now, Lindhall," the King encouraged. "Pray tell us what is on your mind."

The older mage wrapped a long finger around his nose and Daine, startled, suddenly realized the origin of a gesture that she had seen time and time again, one that seemed to her uniquely _Numair._

"It occurs to me, your Majesty," Lindhall said, "that- hypothetical philosophizing aside- we have not heard from those actually in question." He paused, before continuing: "those mages that would be leading, indeed _sharing_ in this…most fascinating prospect."

"Indeed, Lindhall." Jonathan's gaze moved over the room. "Our most powerful weapons in magical combat are in this room. Numair…" He glanced at the mage, who nodded soberly. "Harailt." A second nod. "Alanna." This time, a wry smile and a raised eyebrow over penetrating violet eyes which met the King's gaze. "And of course," the King finished, turning his face towards the window where she sat. "Daine."

The girl in question had clearly not been expecting this. Her mouth dropped open in surprise.

Kitten trilled rudely. _Oh dear_, thought Daine vaguely, feeling as if her stomach had just dropped to the floor.

* * *

From his position by the door, Numair watched his student's cheeks burn crimson as she felt herself the subject of a room's powerful gaze. Coughing lightly, he brought the attention to himself momentarily as he crossed the room, easing into a seat between Daine and the Queen. With a small smile, Thayet inched over to make more room.

Numair, from his new vantage point, looked up at the King. "I must admit, Jon. Your suggestion is…intellectually thrilling. Some of us will simply need time to absorb the magnitude of what you propose." Even without looking at her, Numair could feel Daine smiling up at him in relief; he knew she was thankful no longer to be the object of so much attention.

As Numair spoke, Daine felt his hand rest gently at the nape of her neck, cool fingers exerting the lightest pressure, a reassuring and gentle touch. Immediately she softened, remembering the way he had shielded her with his Gift exactly the same way, when she was first getting to grips with her wild magic and needed to converse safely with a Griffin.

Later that night, in bed, Daine would realize that this time, in fact, he had not used his gift at all, but that something in his touch alone had instantly soothed her; and she would blush again at this second, more ambiguous memory.

* * *

The tall mage and his student walked slowly to the fields below the main stable. Daine looked mostly at her feet as they walked, scuffing her toes in the gravel, marking her territory, it occurred to her with a smile, as if she were indeed one of the People.

Reaching the fence, the girl hopped up easily, turning around to face Numair, who came to stand by her side. Daine smiled; only with this extra, wooden height advantage did she come even close to being at his level.

Numair could _feel_ her smile in the dark. A small smile touched his own lips, as he thought: _it fees good to be with her again._ He had wondered at his capacity to be normal around her, and had almost broken down earlier that evening and told Alanna that he was not sure how to be with her now that he had come so close to losing her in Carthak. She was, he realized, his own little paradox: he had not dared to face her because he could not face the thought of losing her, and because he could not face the implications of this fear.

Now, she sat beside him, silent, and he was reminded of this: the easiness of their relationship. And watching her from across the room in Jon's study, he had felt without even realizing, the natural desire to look after her. Recognizing her embarrassment he had gone to her, and he had sought to alleviate it. It was not saving her from Ozorne, but it was something.

Daine enjoyed the silence for a little while longer before she spoke. "What do you think of all this, Numair?" They had both been silent since leaving the meeting, each knowing the other's desire to wait until they were alone before discussing it.

White teeth flashed in the dark as the mage finally grinned. "I think Lindhall was right," he said. "I think it is indeed a most…curious and enticing prospect."

Daine smiled. "Just think," she mocked gently, "you get excited enough with your _own_ books and spells. What will I do when there are everybody else's for you to be distracted by, too?"

"Magelet, I am wounded."

She nudged him with her elbow. "You are not, and I know it."

He laughed softly, and Daine thought, suddenly, how musical it sounded. She was not sure if it had occurred to her before.

"What do _you _think, Daine?" he asked.

"I'm not sure," she admitted, and paused. "It does seem exciting. What if there are others out there with wild magic like mine, that I might understand…"She broke off suddenly, thinking of her past, of her ma, of running with the pack, of her curious non-mortal da whose very existence she could not bring herself to examine further…Her mouth formed into a grim smile. Of course there would be, could be, nobody who could share all that with her.

She looked over at Numair, who was tugging at his nose, deep in thought. "How would you feel, sharing your knowledge, your…experiences with others?" he asked her.

Dine shrugged. "It seems sensible. It seems wise," she added. "I've always made a fair mess of speaking up for the People"- she thought fleetingly of Dunlath- "but it would be different, interesting, to speak of it with those who might understand, who wouldn't think me…crazy."

This sobered the mage. "They would not dare to think it," he replied, the slight edge in his voice an unspoken warning.

Daine reached up and pulled at one loose curl as she thought; it was a bad habit Numair was trying to break her of, but tonight she had other things on her mind. "I don't…" Her voice was hesitant. She could feel Numair turn to her, feel his eyes resting on her face as he waited patiently for her to be ready, and something in the gift of this gaze enabled her to collect her thoughts and continue.

"I don't know what it will feel like to sit with all those mages, Numair, as if I were powerful like them." She blushed, and shook her head as Numair opened his mouth to protest. "It seems a bit like…" She paused, wrinkling her nose as she tried to find the way to explain herself to him. "It seems a bit like magical nakedness."

"Magical nakedness?" There was amusement in his voice, and she blushed.

"Yes."

"That is a most interesting image, Daine."

Daine sighed. "You know when I shapeshift, I'm always…without clothes when I return to my form?"

Numair was glad that the darkness covered his blush. "I had noticed," he returned dryly.

"Well…don't you think there's a reason? Unless it's the own Gods' laugh at my expense," she muttered, fingering the claw that lay at her throat.

"A reason? I hadn't given it much thought," Numair replied, thinking: _well. That is almost true. _

Daine shrugged. "There's something a bit…intimate about it, isn't there? Something private."

Numaor realized with a jolt that for all his intellectual curiosity, he had never _really_ wondered what it must feel like to have her power. To have a power that was so akin to losing control, that was so much a part of her that to reveal it must, he suddenly understood, feel a little like exposure every day. This new realization grounded him. When he had first met her he had been so amazed and so curious regarding her untapped and wild power, he had given little thought to the magnitude of what it would mean for her to become what he so haphazardly called her: a little mage.

Perhaps his teaching had saved her, in a way; it had certainly enabled her to harness her power. But, he realized, feeling the thud of a quickening heart in his chest, the circumstances that she now found herself in- a royal maglet, with royal duties and the gaze and attention of important figures- were a direct result of the teaching he had given her. Without him, she would have been a far more private individual, leading a far more private life.

For a moment, these thoughts, and the thought of her vulnerability paralyzed him. Finally her voice broke through the silence, and the loud thud of his heart beating loudly in his chest.

"Numair?" She sounded desolate, far away.

"You've shifted in front of people before," he offered finally.

"Of course."

A pause. "And nobody need see you do it, not if you don't wish them to. It's your body, Daine."

"Yes, but…It's not really the shifting I _mean, _Numair, it's…" She sighed. "Odss bobs, this is hard to understand!" The pair remained in silence a moment while Daine gathered her thoughts and scattered memories, struggling to knit them together to make _sense._

"When I first had my magic, it was running free, wasn't it?"

"As it's namesake," Numair agreed. When his student looked up quizzically, he smiled. "It was wild," he offered in explanation.

"Wild," Daine murmured slowly, as if running the word through her mouth in order to examine every aspect of its meaning. Next to her, Numair was remembering the Daine he had first met, the girl with tangles of copper threads running angrily through and around her: a most powerful and hypnotic pain.

As if Daine could see this too, she said: "I was…all over the place. And then you helped close me up, Numair."

He looked at her, sharply. "_Close you up_?"

"I mean…" She struggled to find the words. "I was all higgledy-piggledy, and confused. Your helped rein me in, you helped collect up my magic and weave it back inside of me, where it belonged. You put a shield up around me," she said softly, finally. Numair nodded, suddenly unable to speak.

"I want to learn how to share," Daine continued quietly, so quietly that he wondered if she still spoke to him, or rather for herself. "I want to learn others' magics, and for them to understand me, and _mine._ But…" She fidgeted slightly on the fence. "What if, when they learn from me, when they look at me with their magic, deep inside like you did, I get all opened up again, all higgledy-piggledy and…"

"Daine." He had reached over, and she felt his finger touch her cheek, fleetingly. "I would never let that happen again. I promise."

Daine could feel the fear tug at the back of her skull as she stared up at the sky. "You promise?" she whispered.

"Yes, magelet. I promise."

**A/N: Many thanks for getting this far! This is my first fanfic, so do please let me know what you think if you have the time, encouragement is always appreciated!**


	3. Recoil

**Chapter 3: Recoil**

People began to arrive in dribs and drabs, and though there were always regular visitors to the Palace, those who observed these particular arrivals knew that they were different. Brightly coloured mage-robes spoke proudly of their wearers' powers. Some looked apprehensive, some kept their faces carefully blank. Guards and servants had been instructed to be as pleasant and welcoming as possible, and the guests to Jonathan's magical sanctuary were led to richly-furnished guest rooms. Many had come from overseas, from Maren and Tyra, from Galla and from the Yamani Islands. They welcomed the hospitality with careful but generous thanks, still unsure as to the nature of such an unusual invitation.

Heads nodded to each other frequently when passing in corridors and courtyards; many of these magical visitors had known each other before, having studied together at the great University in Carthak, or having visited Tortall's own burgeoning department, or during various magical pilgrimages to the City of the Gods.

Yet most mages of significant power were carefully aligned with a particular monarch, and _these_ visitors looked especially sharply at one another, each wondering if ever before they had been under the same roof, welcomed with such open arms by the monarch of a realm that owed them- and their own rulers- very little.

Those who worked in the palace with increasing unease at the sight of so many Gifted people amongst them were relieved to see other visitors from closer to home. Local hedgewitches from villages far-flung in Tortall, those with Lords generous to accept their absence, had come to the palace to learn ways in which they might harness their smaller powers to fight the increasing immortal attacks. Lesser Tortallan-born mages stationed across the realm returned to their palace to see what further skills they themselves could acquire.

Those who were perceptive noticed that some of the visitors had arrived only days after King Jonathan had spoken of his intentions to his own subjects, and from such far-flung regions that it would not have been possible for them to have set off less than a week before. Yet the Palace officials welcomed their new guests with generous enthusiasm. If any of them questioned Jonathan's decision to implement his plans _before_ informing them, they knew better than to say so.

* * *

Daine was grateful that, for the most part, she had not drawn an inordinate amount of attention from their new magical visitors. Numair of course was regularly the source of much interest, and she had been happy to skulk in his shadows as he greeted old friends warmly, and unknown mages with unaffected and lively curiosity.

When pairs of curious eyes flicked with interest from Numair to the attractive young woman at his side, Daine quickly proffered a hand and explained herself simply as 'a student of Master Salmalín's.' She had noticed that, after a few initial attempts, Numair no longer moved to elaborate on her simple introduction. He was happy to let her remain in the shadows of their new venture, for the moment at least, and Daine was relieved.

For the past week she had sat through dinners, alongside Numair and Harailt, on a table with a selection of the visiting mages, observing them with curiosity and occasionally being drawn into careful conversation. Tonight, however, she was determined to seek out her Rider friends, those she had barely seen since their return, and, if she dared admit it to herself, for much of the previous year. Something about the eager eyes with their shining, intellectual brilliance of the Palace's new guests exhausted her. If anything, amongst the crowds she felt peculiarly alone, missing the easy familiarity of friends to whom she had little to explain, or prove.

The visitors had been, somewhat unconventionally, welcomed but treated as regular Palace dwellers, with the fortunate outcome that meals were shared and enjoyed, but not overly formal. Daine found it easy enough to slip quietly from her seats between Lindhall and a young female mage from Tyra, both of whom were engrossed in highly speculative philosophical arguments with those seated on their other sides.

Meeting her eyes across the table, Numair questioned silently as he watched her stand; but he said nothing as she smiled apologetically and turned, looking out over the crowded hall to find her friends.

With smile, she caught sight of the gangly form of Evin Larse in a far corner of the room, and moved quickly towards him.

"May I?" Daine rested one hand on Evin's shoulder, and one on the warm-hearted girl by his side.

"Daine!" Miri's dancing eyes were almost lost in a huge freckled grin as she stood to hug her friend.

"Mistrress Sarrastri," Evin offered in a borrowed, elegant tone, standing and drawing her hand to his lips where he kissed the air above the skin of her fingers in mock lasciviousness, making her giggle.

"Player," Daine chided her friend good naturedly, extracting her hand from his.

Evin ignored this. "Look, fellow friends,"he called to the assortment of Riders, "our Daine has paid us a visit from over there on the _clever_ table."

Daine rolled her eyes. "Evin…" she warned, a smile twisting at the corner of her mouth.

"Stop chiding the girl and get her a chair," called a voice a few feet away. "Better yet, give her yours."

Evin nodded sagely. "Right you are," he offered, pulling out his seat for Daine, who sunk into it gratefully, before trotting off to find himself another.

Daine turned to Miri and, impulsively, leaned in to give her friend a quick kiss on the cheek. Miri grinned in return and reached out to squeeze one rosy cheek. "We've missed you, Daine. How was your Carthaki adventuring?"

"Fair eventful," Daine uttered with a quick laugh. "If I were to tell you now it all seems so ridiculous as to be tall tales told by the campfire."

"Nothing wrong with campfire tales," called Filipen, a friendly blonde from the north who had joined the Riders in March this year.

"Indeed." Evin had returned, and squeezed a chair in between Daine and the young rider to her left. "And if you don't tell us, then the even _taller_ tales will be whispered instead."

"Taller tales than mine? I daren't believe it," Daine retorted.

"Ah well." Evin shook his head in a gesture of theatrical sadness that elicited laughter from around the table. "Then I gather it is indeed true that our Daine single-handedly battled with the Graveyard hag, turned herself into a dragon, blew fire on half of Carthak and gobbled up their Emperor?"

Daine paused. "Well, only bits of that are true," she offered finally as laughter erupted amongst her friends. Smiling, she looked around the table. _How did I even think to be lonely when I have friends such as these? _Her eyes took in Evin, Filipen, Miri, Padrach, and others, all looking at her with friendly welcome. Somehow their gaze didn't penetrate like those in Jon's study, or the newly arrived mages. She thought: _this is what home feels like._

When dinner was finished, and many of the guests had left the dining hall, Daine remained with her friends, chatting easily as she caught up on the day-to-day news of the Palace: how the Riders were faring, the training for new recruits, and which young ladies Evin had his dancing eyes on. Daine shared the lesser of her own dramatic tales, from Carthak and before, realising again how long it had been since she had last _really_ spoken to her young companions.

Two hours before the midnight bell, Daine watched with interest as, opposite her, Filipen dug around for something under the table and finally brought it out with a grin. "I'd have brought my gamba but I don't think it would fit under there," he spoke to the crowd. Around her people whistled and clapped in anticipation. Daine leaned in close to Miri and whispered, "everybody else seems to know something I don't. What am I missing?"

Miri's eyes twinkled. "Ah, Daine, you've not had the pleasure of these last few months. Nights like this, Filipen eases our weary Rider bones with lovely music."

"Before he wears them out again with dancing!" called a joking female voice from further down the table.

Daine watched as Filipen brought some sort of wooden instrument from a case on his lap. "What is it?"

"It's a lute." Filipen had looked up, and answered Daine's question. The girl nodded in reply, she had heard of those. "But not such as the ones you'll find here in Court," he continued. "This one is played more in the north of Galla." He cocked his head. "Are you not from there?"

Daine rubbed a worn spot on the knee of her breeches rather than look at him. "I was. Not any more." When she looked up, there was no questioning in his face, and she smiled. _Not everyone is after your past and trying to open up your secrets_, she chided herself. _Now relax and enjoy yourself. _

Daine did as she had told herself, and sat back in her chair, feet curled up and arms hugging her legs. Around her others did the same as Filipen gently flexed his fingers and began tuning the strings. Next to her, Miri spoke: "You see the neck is thicker? The Tortallan lutes look a little more elegant but this one has an extra string."

"I didn't realise you were a musician, Miri. Well, apart from ocean song!" Daine teased.

The girl blushed, shaking her head. "And see how he plays? The Court musicians use a plectrum."

"But you know how us Riders like to use our hands!" Filipen quipped, looking up at them with an easy smile.

The young man began to play and Daine finally stopped watching and shut her eyes, happy to let the sounds wash over her. A lovely melancholic tune was followed by a comic song, 'I prefer not these ladies', which Evin performed with aplomb in his theatrical style and light bass voice, drawing cheers of support from the men and mock-distress from some of the women.

Some time later Daine felt a nudge in her side and opened one eye. By her side, Miri giggled at her. "Wake up, Daine, it's time for the real fun now."

"Real fun?" Daine snuggled further in her chair. She was enjoying the music, letting herself be drawn easily into the various moods it evoked. "This is plenty fun for me."

"Ah, but you haven't danced yet."

"_Danced?" _Daine wriggled her nose in distaste. "I'm not one for dancing, Miri."

"Ah but Daine," spoke a voice from behind her, as two large hands grabbed her round the shoulders. She looked up into Evin's face. "You speak of _courtly_ dancing; this is a very different breed." And before she could protest, Evin had lifted her from her chair as she yelped, and flipped her in his arms. "Stand on my feet and I'll show you," he said simply, as if this were the most normal thing in the world. He lowered her until she rested on his two large leather boots, and winked.

"Uh-oh," was all Daine could say.

They were still standing unmoving, but as Daine peered around her friend, she could see a young man next to Filipen bring out a pipe and tabor. As he joined the musical fray, both musicians settled happily into a quicker pace. Around them, Riders joined in with clapping, or brought their own partners to the floor.

"After four," Evin whispered in her ear, and she barely had time to panic before he yelled the numbers at her and began moving.

If Daine had had more breath, she might have giggled. There was little actual _dancing_ they could do, stuck together as they were. But Evin lifted his feet in time to the music, Daine's own unsteady legs gripping to stay put. Occasionally he jumped, making her yelp, and moved round in a circle, making her dizzy.

When the song finished Daine laughed, and reached up to wipe the sweat from her forehead. "Well, Evin, that was less dancing and more jumping," she teased, "but I thank you for the exercise."

As they walked back to their seats, she heard a girl moan: "Filipen, if you go off dancing with Daine there won't be any music to dance to!"

"Nonsense." The friendly blonde picked up his lute and handed it firmly to the girl who had jokingly complained. "I know you've been itching to get at my instrument all night."

Daine blushed lightly at the innuendo which glimmered at the edge of his joke, before Filipen turned his attention to her, and she willed her blush away. The Gallan extended both hands to her with a grin. "I saw Evin had a most unusual way of dancing with you, but I think I can fare better."

Daine laughed, allowing her hands to be clasped in his as he urged her back away from the table. "It was less dancing, more child's-play" she agreed. "But I doubt you could do better with me, Fillipen. I'm not the dancing…"

The breath was knocked out of her before she could finish the word "sort", as Filipen lifted her in strong arms and flung her into the air. When she landed, he eased her down and swung her in a circle before she had time to recover. "Beware of the Piva," he shouted in her ear as the music increased in tempo and dynamic.

"The Piva?" she questioned between large gulps of air as he twisted her around with one hand above her head.

"It's _fast!_"

* * *

Numair continued his conversation with the lesser mage from Tyra on the subject of Griffin feathers even after the music from the other side of the room registered on his senses. He looked up once, distracted, hearing a familiar voice singing a familiar comic song 'I prefer not these ladies'; and then, smiling, shook his head and returned his attentions to the man at his side.

When Iram, the mage, bade his farewells, Numair looked around the table to see that most of their visitors had retired. As usual, time had flown while he had been in academic pursuit, and it could not now be far off the midnight hour. He stood to his feet, stretching lightly, and wondered where Daine had disappeared to. He had felt for her, surrounded by mages and academics. He thought of the various questions he had answered and fended off regarding this most unusual young woman- had he been a book-bound idiot not to realise that others might recognise her power, as he had done?- and realised again that, as exciting as this new venture was, it had brought her very much out into the open. She could not remain the private girl she had perhaps once had a notion of being.

Numair shook his head, moving round the table and nodding to Lindhall- still deep in conversation- as he passed. _Enough. _It was too late to worry about that now.

As he moved towards the centre of the room, intending to make his necessary goodbyes, Numair stopped short. His eyes narrowed for a moment, seeking to focus in the blur of bodies that moved, jumped and twirled in displays of comic virtuosity. At its centre was Daine.

_Well,_ he thought, when all other thoughts momentarily left him, a wry and slightly cold smile forming on his lips. _This is not exactly 'private' either. _

Numair shook his head, suddenly feeling an ache coming on, and thought: _perhaps I have drunk too much._ Perhaps that explained this sudden unease, and slight nausea.

He meant to leave, but somehow could not tear his eyes away. He watched in silence, his eyes, strangely, only on her. On Daine.

Numair gazed at the hand that was splayed on her back, on the curve of her waist that was defined by the other hand that gripped her firmly. His eyes moved quickly to the tall blonde man who held her, whose laughing eyes were fixed on her upturned face, and his own eyes hardened.

He heard her laugh, a deep, musical sound, low like her speaking voice, and for a moment all other thoughts ceased. Then, he thought, _have I ever heard her laugh like that? Has she ever laughed like that for me?_

The breath left his body suddenly as he watched the young man grasp Daine around her ribcage and fling her high above his head. He stared, almost entranced at the picture his student made, in the air, as if in flight, her arms spread out, dark curls tumbling around her. Absentmindedly he seemed to remember that she had arrived at dinner that evening with her hair properly pinned, but it had clearly come loose now, in all the excitement.

When the man caught her, Daine's legs came round his waist and he held her there, spinning on the spot. Numair felt an ugly pull at the back of his mind as he watched, enthralled, his heart racing as he could not look away from this strange image: Daine with her legs around a man.

He blinked, hard, feeling a chasm tear through his intellectual and emotional reasoning. _No_, he thought, breath ragged. _I have no right…_

He tried to stop his thoughts with hands that came to run through his own coal-black hair.

Numair tried to look away. He had no right to look at her that way, to examine her body, held by another man, to listen to her laugh in the way he would listen to a lover's…

"Doesn't it make you feel old?"

Numair was brought suddenly, gratefully, from his trance by a light, high voice at his side. He jerked, suddenly, peering down at the woman who stood at his side, smiling up at him.

"Forgive me, gentle lady, I did not see…" he began, his voice- like the rest of him- unsteady.

"Oh don't worry," the woman interrupted. "You're tall enough that I imagine you see both more and less than the normal man, but most _anybody_ has to peer down a few feet to see _me._"

Numair stopped short, surprised, and then smiled. He had been expecting the gentle reply of a lady of the court, but she had not given him that; though, giving her a quick appraisal, he could tell she was of noble birth.

He peered at her, and she laughed. "Trying to understand my secrets already, Master Mage?" At his blush, she smiled, hazel eyes twitching. "Why don't we begin with a name?"

Thankfully, Numair thought, this woman, whoever she was, was keeping him on his toes enough to draw his mind away from Daine, or more, from his own reaction to her and what he had felt.

He held out a hand to his new companion. Somehow, he imagined she would prefer a handshake to a kiss on the palm.

"My name is Numair Salmalín", he proffered gallantly, and then shook the hand she gave him firmly. It seemed to please her.

"But of course I already knew that." She raised one, elegant eyebrow at him, and he realised with a start that she had all the courtly wiles at her disposal if she chose to use them. _Interesting_, he thought. "And my name is Marina of Dramtaine." Dramtaine, he remembered, was a small holding in the north of Tortall.

They were both silent for a few moments before she spoke: "So, who is the beauty?"

Numair started. "I'm sorry?"

The woman cocked her head to one side, her eyes gesturing to the group of dancers in front of them. "The one they're all gazing at and longing to take in their arms."

Numair felt his heart clench again, and he closed his eyes briefly. Now he had succeeded in dragging his eyes away, he did not want to look at her again.

"The brunette with the rather gorgeous curls," Marina continued, though he did not need her to. He already knew who the beauty was.

"Daine," he managed finally, trying to manage his speech which felt, to him, ragged. "Or- Verilidaine Sarrasri. She is…my student."

"I see." Marina's sharp eyes examined him closely, and he allowed it, blushing. When he looked at her, her gaze was warm but carefully guarded, and he wondered what secrets she had discovered from him. Her own face betrayed nothing.

And then, finally, when Numair thought he had stopped breathing, she said: "so, Master Salmalín. Would you like to go for a walk?"

* * *

She had not thought, when she began her evening, that she would be kissed at the end of it.

Daine looked up at Filipen, and realised, suddenly: _I am going to be kissed now. _It was a peculiar feeling, since it had not happened before.

After crying off further dances, pleading tired limbs, Filipen had offered to carry her back to her room to avoid any further physical exertion. Of course she had laughed, and then refused. They eventually arrived on a compromise, which was that they would walk back together- via the smaller Palace gardens. It occurred to Daine that this was probably not much of a compromise at all, since he had gotten what he wanted and she had agreed to more than she had bargained for.

But now here they stood. She looked up at his warm, dancing eyes.

When he reached out, gently pulling a loose curl from her face and holding it between his fingers, she took a deep breath.

His other hand reached out to cup her face, and she didn't move. When he leaned down, brushing his lips against hers, she thought: _this is strange._

And then, when he didn't pull back, and when she realised she quite liked this boy and his faint smell of grass, his patchy lips and the warmth of his breath, she let him hold her a little closer. Her own hand reached up and gingerly explored the short hair at the nape of his neck. She thought she felt him shudder against her mouth, and was suddenly embarrassed.

In a vague part of her mind, she thought: _I wonder where Numair is? _and she pushed it away.

And this was how Daine Sarrasri was kissed for the first time.

* * *

Numair walked through the Palace gardens, remembering.

Marina had been a welcome distraction. They had walked, slowly, conversing. She had told him about her purpose here, and he had not had to feign interest: she was a genuinely engaging and intelligent woman.

Finally, she had looked at him with a dazzling smile, and he realised what she wanted. It suddenly occurred to him that she was not at all like the woman he had dalliances with before. He had been embarrassed when she had asked if she would see him again, and had explained, in bumbling and uneasy terms, that he did not want to mislead her.

Marina had laughed, and told him neither to flatter nor alarm himself: she was not the marrying kind. And with that, she left him to his thoughts and made her way back to her own rooms, alone.

Now Numair contemplated the idea of pursuing her, as he ambled back to the courtyard beneath his own rooms.

Suddenly, he stopped. He sharpened his eyes into focus, and then wished that he had not. A breath caught in his throat.

Daine stood, only feet away, in the shadows of the garden. She was not alone.

Numair moved forward unthinkingly, as if to pull this man away, as if to rescue her.

_No, no._ He stopped himself in time. This was not his job. She was a woman now- gods, his own reaction to her this evening had proved that. He felt himself blush in the dark at the memory.

But perhaps…perhaps she had been coerced, perhaps she was unwilling. Numair moved again in order to make himself known. It would cause them all embarrassment, perhaps, but it would allow her to leave if she so wished.

_No. _He froze, watching as Daine's slender wrist snaked around the young man's neck; he watched, again unable to look away as her fingers hesitantly, and then more assertively, ran through his hair, and pulled him down to her upturned face.

_Gods, magelet…_ She was more than willing.

Numair closed his eyes, trying to calm the thud in his chest. Perversely, he wondered if Daine would take this man to her bed tonight.

_No_…He could not think of it.

He forced himself to turn, walking briskly through the gateway to the courtyard, and then towards his room. All the way he tried to thrust away the image of her, soft and pliable in another's arms.

She was not his to watch in this way. She was not his.

Jaw clenched, Numair told himself, over and over: _Let her go._

_Let her go. Let her go. _

**_A/NL: Please please PLEASE let me know what you think! I'm feeling unloved;-)_**


	4. Realisations

A/N: Many thanks again to those who have reviewed. All other thoughts greatly welcomed!

**Chapter 4: ****Realisations**

When Daine finally found her teacher at breakfast, it occurred to her that he was looking a little worse for wear. She smiled a little as she slipped onto the bench opposite him. Numair had never been good with mornings.

"Morning, Numair," she offered, looking over at him as her fingers began pulling apart the sweetbread on her tray.

"Daine." He nodded at her, meeting her eyes only fleetingly before he returned his gaze to his barely-touched morning meal.

"Not hungry? Only ask and I'll have a friendly paw on your knee." Daine grinned, remembering the occasion in Carthak where she had saved him from dormice and eels with a little animal aid.

"Not very." Numair gave her a small smile. "Besides, I ate plentifully last night." He paused, and Daine looked up. For some reason his gaze this morning was impenetrable; she wondered if he had complicated spells and thoughts clouding his mind, even this early.

"And you?" he continued, a little hesitantly. "You slipped off at dinner..."

Daine met his suddenly over-bright eyes. "Yes, I'm sorry." She shot him an apologetic smile, and shrugged as she pushed tiny bits of the bread into her mouth. "It had been a while since I'd seen the Riders, and I didn't feel quite at home…well, you know." She knew she didn't have to explain her unease at being amongst so many mages; they had already discussed it.

She knew he understood, and so _she_ could not understand the look on his face now. He looked…guarded. Displeased.

Brushing the crumbs from her mouth with one hand, she raised an eyebrow and met his dark, brooding eyes with her own inquisitive ones.

"I hope I didn't appear rude…" she began carefully. She didn't like this dancing around topics, this polite speak. Surely she and Numair were long past that?

"Not at all, magelet." He shook his head and looked down at his plate. He cleared his throat before continuing. "Besides, we all deserve time off, do we not? And the time to pursue other…pleasures."

Daine felt the heat rising in her cheeks as she thought of the night before. Of Filipen. Of their kiss in the palace gardens. She did not realise that she had unconsciously brought a finger to her lips at the memory until she looked up into Numair's probing eyes, and her blush deepened.

Daine shook her head, trying to clear her mind of the thoughts; her brain felt peculiar, foggy…_drunk _almost, which was odd. She had not drunk a thing.

She shot Numair a quick look from beneath her lashes, face lowered, and realised he was still staring at her mouth. She frowned; something about him was putting her on edge this morning. It was as if there was a heat in his glance, one she couldn't see.

_Nonsense_, her inner voice chided. _More like your _own_ peculiar heat. You'd not been kissed before last night and now you want to share it with the world by advertising your lips and turning a bright, lobster-red. _

Daine smiled at herself. How silly. For a moment she considered telling Numair about Filipen. After all, she knew about the women he had been with in the last years- though perhaps he was not aware that she did. This year she'd paid more attention to them, curious about the kind of woman her teacher might be taken with. They had been, more or less, what she had expected: a little like Varice. A little like her Ma. _That _had drawn Daine up short. Of course, she had belittled herself; why would Numair want anything other than the most womanly of women? Voluptuous. Worldly. Elegant. Beautiful.

Daine shook her head, trying to rid herself of this particular train of thought. Of course she wouldn't tell Numair about Filipen; he would only laugh at her. _Is that really why? _an inner voice nagged. She pushed it away.

When she looked back up at her teacher, Numair was gazing at her, an odd expression on his face. What was wrong with them both this morning?

Daine sighed, and picked up the apple on her tray, rolling it between her hands before she took a bite. "Well, _you_ look fair tired," she offered finally.

Numair returned a somewhat wan smile. "For some reason I did not sleep particularly well last night."

"Two many spells whirling around up here?" She tapped two fingers to her temple, and was relieved when he finally returned her smile.

"Not spells, no."

"Two many mages running around to keep an eye on?" This made him laugh, albeit softly.

"I'm not their keeper, magelet." But he looked and sounded a little more like the Numair she knew, and Daine breathed a sigh of relief.

"But of course. How are things going do you think? With the….magic school."

"Well…" Numair tugged on his nose, thinking. "Yesterday many of the hedgewitches visited the university with Harailt." He smiled at the memory. "I think it did the male students there good; it's certainly the largest group of women they've ever seen inside the University's walls."

"Good," Daine retorted hotly. "Boys shouldn't be studying here still thinking that sorcery is man's work, not with the Lioness as Champion and all. Perhaps they'll all return home with a little more respect for women who do the healing and birthing and magics in their lands."

The mage smiled down at her. "Indeed."

"So what were they there for?" Daine took another bite of her apple and leaned forward, resting her chin in the palm of her hand as she questioned him.

"Harailt and I discussed some of the magics that might be useful to them with the spate of immortal attacks. Warding spells, focussed flame to use against the stormwings and spidrens. Meanwhile some of the other mages examined our library, and went through some of our personal heories and workings on the barrier and its…" He paused, and Daine knew he was searching his immense mind for the most suitable word. "Limitations," he finished with a small frown, not entirely happy with his choice.

"Other mages are reading your private workings?" She raised an eyebrow. "And here I was thinking you were intensely private about your spells."

Numair sighed. "Now is not the time to be possessive about such things, Daine." He stared into space, and Daine wondered what horrible occurrence he might be envisioning. "We _all_ of us need to be prepared. The world is changing, immortals are everywhere, other realms are willing to manipulate them in ways we have not begun to comprehend. Even as we speak enemy mages may be ripping holes in the barrier to bring a scourge upon us."

Daine paused. "And all this before breakfast is over?"

The mage smiled at her joke, but it did not quite reach his eyes. "Knowledge is power, Daine."

"And you- we- are willing to share that power?"

"With the visiting mages? Yes. Without it they are in the dark. With it, they might seek to help their own lands safe from attack."

Daine thought about this as she took another bite of her apple. "Isn't it dangerous to give up your own power? Your own spells? Isn't there a danger it weakens you- _us_- to do so?"

Numair sighed. "Perhaps that is a risk Jonathan is willing to take, magelet."

"But what about the Kings Own?" she countered. "They're able to protect the villages from attack, it's what they've been doing for years."

"True." He looked at her thoughtfully. "But you of all people should believe in enabling, Daine." She raised an eyebrow at him, and he sighed. "In making people able to help themselves."

"I know what enabling means, Numair." Now she looked irritated, and he couldn't fathom why.

"Well that is one of the main aims of Jon's plan, Daine. To teach those who come how to learn to protect themselves."

He watched as Daine nodded slowly. "Like Granda taught me," she said finally, softly.

"Yes." His eyes softened. "If we protect people over and over, it's a form of infantilising. We only ever teach them to be victims, not to be self-sufficient adults. Adults who can look after themselves."

Daine smiled at this. "I'll remind you that you said that next time you get fair protective of me, Numair."

His breath caught, shallow in his throat. "It's not the same, Daine," he broke out quickly, too quickly. Why did he suddenly feel like he held his heart in his mouth?

She was right, of course. He had given her the skills to be the woman she now was.

Numair swallowed, hard, and looked away.

The woman who could look after herself and have whatever lovers she pleased.

He only had to remember to let her go.

* * *

They walked in silence towards the courtyard below Numair's rooms. Breakfast over, it was time to go over the presentation they were to make on Daine's wild magic later that week. Daine shivered at the thought; she was not sure she had fully come to terms with the thought of displaying herself and her magic to a room of mages, whatever their loyalty.

They were approaching the winding staircase that led up to Numair's rooms when a voice called from behind them.

"Daine! Daine, wait!"

She turned at the breathless voice; beside her, Numair did the same.

"Filipen," she began, as the tall blonde made his way towards them, holding something- as he neared she could see it was a cat- in his arms. He smiled and she blushed, smiling hesitantly in return.

"I'm glad I found you," returned the blonde Gallan. "Onua said I might find you around here."

"Of course; how are you?"

The smile Filipen gave her in return was more than she had expected; his lips twitched knowingly, his eyes dancing. "All the better for seeing you", he offered, a charming lilt in his voice.

Daine felt heat flood her cheeks. Beside her, Numair stood rigidly; opposite her, a young man was courting her. _Gods, this is too much. _

Finally Filipen saved her. "Forgive me, Daine, I didn't mean to accost you. I don't believe we've met, sir?"

"No." Numair's voice was cool. "I don't believe we have."

Daine did not look at either man as they introduced themselves. She could feel the tension in the air and wondered at it. She had not seen the intensity of Numair's gaze offered in such controlled but intimidating measures since he had warned Kaddar off her. There was no table to kick him under here, and Daine prayed that she wouldn't have to.

Perhaps she needn't have worried. Filipen, with his wide, easy smile and playful expression, looked far from threatened. Formal introductions over, he all but ignored the mage by her side, returning his attentions to Daine. Reaching over, he deposited the bundle of fluff in her arms.

Daine looked down at the creature, who until then had been watching them all with slightly pained interest.

"Hello, little thing," she murmured, reaching inside to examine the animal with her magic. She was hurt, though she would live.

The cat transferred her cool green gaze from the girl who held her to the tall men by her side. _Tall_, she remarked.

Daine laughed. "That they are," she replied, ignoring her companions' questioning looks. "And what happened to you, little miss?"

Filipen answered as the cat shuddered in her arms. "It was my horse, Daine, I'm so sorry…" He sighed, shaking his head. "This little one, we call her Maisie, was watching our warm-up from the fence. But Hero got out of hand, and reared. In the aftermath I think he stood on her paw…"

_Maisie?_ Daine asked silently.

If the cat could have sighed with resignation, she would have. Instead she twitched her tail a little, despite the pain. _These two-leggers like pretty names_, she remarked. _This one is soft, he may call me what he pleases as long as he brings me treats. _

Daine hid a smile. "You can't be that hurt if you're already worrying about treats," she murmured quietly. Beside her she could feel Numair smile, drawing her attention for a moment.

She reached out to examine Maisie's paw, as gently as possible. "You're a brave girl," she murmured as the cat flinched in evident pain. The cool green eyes examined her, curious but trusting.

Sighing, Daine looked up at her teacher. "I'm sorry, Numair, I know we have work to do, but…"

"Don't worry, magelet." With a smile, the mage reached over and stroked the cat she held gently; Daine watched his large fingers moved over soft orange fur with a surprising gentleness for their size, and for some reason could not look away. Finally she was moved out of her gaze by the voice beside her; she looked up, startled. For a moment she had forgotten Filipen was still there.

"Let me help, Daine," the young man offered eagerly. "I've wanted to watch you heal since I heard from Evin and Miri what you do. I could hold her if you like?"

Daine was touched by the eager interest in his voice. She looked over at her teacher; was it her imagination or had his smile tightened?

"Numair…" she began. But the mage had already turned away.

"See to your patient, Daine," he called over his shoulder, already beginning to ascend the spiral staircase. "I believe you have all the help you need."

"I'll come to your rooms when I'm done," she called, but there was no answer and she was not sure he had heard. Sighing, she wondered briefly at the slight awkwardness in their relationship since Carthak, even more evident this morning. She had hoped it had been nothing but tiredness. She had hoped…

Daine shook her head, and turned back to Filipen. "Lead the way," she told him, trying to keep her voice cheerful. She gestured her head towards the gardens, her arms full with Maisie.

When they were seated on the damp grass, Daine handed the animal over, guiding Filipen's hands gently to hold Maisie on his lap while leaving access to her left front paw. She could feel the Rider's warm eyes on her as she settled herself, and blushed again; she could not quite dare meet his gaze.

Touching the cat's paw, she realised her own fingers were shaking. _What is wrong with me this morning?_ she scolded herself. Was it Filipen's presence? Perhaps; this close, she could smell him, could remember the feel of his lips on hers.

But it was more than that. It was Numair too, the way he had looked at her this morning, their unusually guarded conversation. She could not remember feeling like this with him, not since her arrival in Tortall when she had been too scared to admit her past, afraid of what he might think, afraid of what she herself might do.

_But what am I afraid of now?_

She pushed the troubling thoughts from her mind, focusing on the problem in hand: Maisie, and her broken paw. Daine closed her eyes as her fingers gently rested against the animal's warm body. The grass tickled her ankle; she pushed the irritation away.

In the distance she could hear, _feel_, two crows and their cold, mating call.

Daine shook her head, irritated. What was wrong with her? Her mind could not focus. She realised with a start that she had not used her magic, not needed to go _inside_ of herself, at least, since Carthak. Then, she had been so overwhelmed by the vast and unwelcome power thrust upon her by the graveyard hag that she had resisted using her copper fire. The speaking came naturally, but the healing…

_Not since the Emperor's birds,_ she realised, and shivered. That had been the beginning of the day of _cold._ Not madness, when she had thought Numair dead. Not exactly. But _cold._

Daine looked up into Filipen's questioning eyes and gave him a small smile. "Sorry," she murmured to him. "I want to try something new, it may take time…"

The young man gave her a warm and open smile, blonde her falling into his eyes as he settled back, making himself more comfortable, still holding the cat carefully before him. "I'm not in a hurry, Daine," he replied. "It's a pleasure just to watch you."

Daine looked down at her hands, wondering if the pleasure showed on her face. It was nice to be complimented like that, with such ease; yet she wasn't sure how she was meant to reply.

Instead she nodded, mumbled something incoherent, and settled herself again on the grass. Closing her eyes again she thought of her conversation this morning with Numair. Something was tugging at the back of her mind, something about power…

_There it was._ She found the thought, and opened it up in her mind. They had been discussing enabling, the sharing of tools, teaching others to protect themselves. _What if…?_

Daine shook her head as she reached inside herself, hesitantly, until she could see the warm copper fire, the white pearly barrier around her core. There it was, she thought with pleasure, _her_ power, _her_self. It felt good to be back.

Eyes still closed, fingers grasping Maisie's paw, she could feel the same copper threads pulsing inside the animal. _Her_ power, the girl thought. _But so similar…_

_Maisie?_ she called silently.

_Yes,_ the cat replied.

_I want to try something with you, if I may…_Her silent-speech was still hesitant.

_Be my guest._ The cat's reply held amusement.

_Normally__ I would use my fire to heal your paw_, the girl explained gently. _I would burn any fever, and heal the ligaments, the bone. But…_she stopped, unsure.

_Speak, girl-child,_ the cat ordered, and Daine smiled. She had not forgotten what headstrong and intelligent creatures these felines were. Perhaps she had chosen her first new case well.

_Well,_ Daine explained. _Normally I would use _my_ magic, but it just occurred to me, you see. Or rather, it was something my teacher said…_

_Go on_. Maisie sounded interested, and also amused.

_The wild magic we share joins us. And normally I reach out my language to you, but perhaps you can see inside _my _mind if I will it. _

Maisie gave a cat-laugh, whatever that was. _Of course,_ she intoned. _But why would I want to look inside your mind? The thoughts of my own kittens give me headache enough._

Daine smiled at that. _If I can show you the way, _she explained, _perhaps you could use your own copper fire to heal your paw. You wouldn't need me at all, I could just guide you…_

_Interesting, _remarked the cat. _Now let us begin. _

With an internal grin, Daine opened her mind. She knew better than to retort that _she_ was the teacher here! Cats were cool, proud animals.

Within a moment the image of Maisie's broken paw was centred in her internal gaze. Just beyond it lay the threads of light which led to the years of learning and knowledge: mammalian anatomy, the structure of the paw, how to join each ligament…With a start, she realised she was not alone. Maisie looked into her mind, too, and could see what she saw.

_Most interesting,_ remarked the cat, who could not keep the awe from her thin, feline voice.

_Shush,_ said Daine, reaching out to Maisie and imprinting the images on her mind. In a moment they were out of Daine's inner-gaze, and inside Maisie's own mind. _Here_, Daine guided, showing the cat how to reach for a single copper thread.

_That tickles_, Maisie remarked. Daine smiled, and they got to work.

* * *

Numair looked at her, and felt his heart go tight.

It had been hours since he had left them in the courtyard below his rooms, hours since he had watched them from his window as they walked to the gardens. Hours, and she should have long healed the animal by now.

He had tried to concentrate on his work, but could not. For some reason, he could not get Daine from his mind, and he did not dare examine why.

Now he stood at the archway leading from courtyard to gardens, holding them in his gaze. There was no animal, only Daine, and Filipen. Numair's dark eyes widened as he watched her, head back in the sun, eyes closed. Her feet were tucked under her, her hair swept back but tumbling down her back in long, rich curls which caught the light.

She looked so at peace, so at _home_, he realised with a start. She looked as if she had been meditating, but the hands that rested on her knees were not open, palm up: rather they held other hands. Numair tried to calm the thud in his chest as he took in the young man opposite her, hands holding hers as they rested gently on her knees, his own legs crossed in front of him.

Filipen did _not_ look like he was meditating, Numair realised. In fact, he was gazing at Daine with the same intensity that he himself was…

And then suddenly Filipen looked up, and to the left, as if he had known all the time that they were being watched.

Numair's breath caught in his throat as the young man's eyes met his: unyielding, challenging. He opened his mouth but could not. He tried to read the young man, but could not. What he _could_ feel was the blush that flooded his dark cheeks. Cursing under his breath, he broke the young man's gaze and pulled away, walking quickly past the couple settled on the grass. Without looking back he moved swiftly down the path, and out of sight. Only when he was several hundred yards away did he begin to breathe again, properly, slowly, more evenly.

_This is madness_, he retorted silently, furious with himself. _Gods, what is wrong with me? _

Numair pulled shaking hands through his black hair as he walked towards the stables. Perhaps Onua was there. He could do with some horse-sense right now, some straight-talking and easy conversation, someone to calm his highly-strung nerves.

The mage paused as he reached the entrance to the stables. There were voices inside, but not Onua's, and not ones he recognised. He realised the Riders must have returned from their morning training, and were going over their horses. Shaking his head, he moved to turn. It was only when he heard her name that he stopped short.

"…thought you would dance with Daine?" he heard from one light, male voice.

"She was free with her dancing," the other voice answered, indignant. "Why shouldn't she dance with me?"

"Dancing's not all she's free with," joked the first voice. "Not if you believe the stories."

"Perhaps not, but first you've got to get past that _wizard_ of hers."

"Wizard?" The man laughed. "The mage Salmalín, do you mean? You're right, if she's sharing any bed he'll have her in his. Did you see the way he looked at her last night? All possessive glances and dark, brooding eyes. I'm surprised he didn't put a spell on her right there…"

There was a laugh, and the second man replied, but Numair had already turned away. He could taste bile at the back of his throat. His eyes burned. Rage worked its way through his body like thick, oppressive heat.

Numair barely registered his own footsteps as they hurried him back to his room. He barely registered anything.

_No_, his mind scrambled, breath coming fast in his lungs. Was that how they thought of her?

_Stop it._ He had always known that people spoke of Daine as if she were easy; he had heard slurs like this before, and worked hard to silence them, to hide them from her.

_No._ But was that how they thought of him? Numair shook his head as he walked, trying to ease his thoughts into sense. People had insinuated before that he was interested in Daine sexually, and he had laughed them off. Ozorne had more than implied it, and Numair had been furious, but that had been different, the mage reasoned, that had been because he had been scared for her…hadn't it?

Numair tried to thrust the men's words from his mind but found he could not. Was that how he seemed? A lecherous fool, lusting after his young student…

He shut his eyes, almost in pain. _No. _It was not him, it would never be him.

But the way he had looked at her last night, the way his eyes had taken in her laugh, her waist, her hair, _goddess_, her breasts…

Suddenly the realisation cut through his consciousness like a blade, slicing through the fog of the last week, a painful truth that almost made him cry out.

_I want her._

Something between desire and nausea gripped his stomach. He squeezed his eyes shut, as if trying to banish the truth from his inner sight. It was too late.

He had thought, had hoped, it was merely protectiveness, merely the awareness of her as a young woman, merely the cool and distinct observations of a man. How could he have known, have _imagined_, that it might lead to this, that he might desire her…

Numair, reaching his rooms, slammed the door and leaned against it, breathing heavily. His fists pressed hard against the wood, the pain a welcome, temporary relief.

What was wrong with him? He could not remember the last improper desire he had felt, and there had been nothing so bad as this. Wincing, Numair realised he had not lusted after women Daine's age since he had _been _her age. Fourteen years…

_Stupid, stupid fool._ How had he let it get to this? He had thought he had brought his body into line years ago, had managed to control his impulses with short, fiery affairs every month or so, a different court lady joining him in his bed…

Suddenly, Numair's mind flicked to Marina. _Yes. _That was what he needed, another lively dalliance, a generous woman to bed. She had been more than willing, she had been eager. He owed her nothing. He needed to protect her from nothing. _She _was not his ward, not his student, not a girl he had vowed to protect from men like him. Marina was his equal.

Pressing palms against his eyes one last time, Numair straightened himself, opened his door, and went in search of her.


	5. Release

**A/N: An odd little angsty chapter, this one!**

* * *

**Chapter 5****: Release**

When Daine opened her eyes, Maisie had already gone.

The light hit her with incredible force; her eyes had been shut for… "How long?" she murmured, shutting her eyes again before rubbing them with the back of her hand.

Opposite her, she heard a soft chuckle. "Hours, Daine. Maybe three?"

"Three hours!" Daine squinted at Filipen, still sitting opposite her with that look on his face. With a start she realized she was holding his hands in her lap. She blinked again, and then opened her eyes fully, wondering if he could feel her tremble.

Looking down at their interlinked hands, and then back up, she shot him an inquisitive glance which made him laugh again. "When Maisie left, about half a bell ago, you reached out and grabbed my wrists. You don't remember?"

His face was even more playful as Daine blushed to the roots of her hair. "Not really," she mumbled. "It must have been the magic, it took it out of me…" The memory of that, of her new discovery, was enough to overcome even her embarrassment at waking to find herself in a position of such intimacy. She grinned. "I haven't healed that slow in an age!"

"It was a long time." He looked perplexed. "I hadn't realized…"

"Oh no, this was something _new_," Daine whispered, unable to keep the excitement from her voice. No wonder it had taken her so long. She remembered the first time, when she had healed the otter in her tent, what felt like a lifetime ago. Of course it hadn't exactly been a drain on her magic this time, as she'd merely guided Maisie to heal her _own_ paw. But the concentration! It had been like meditating, only far more draining. She was exhausted.

Daine ran over the memory she grasped in her mind. The animal had been _inside_ her somehow, had seen what she saw, had used that knowledge to heal _herself_…"Goddess," she whispered, feeling her excitement in the soft, quickening thud of her heart against her chest.

_But how…_She stopped herself. Numair would always caution her not to theorize without further proof. _Numair!_ she thought with a start, suddenly desperate to share her discovery with him. _He_ would be able to help her unpick the memory, her thoughts, until she could make sense of them. He would help her understand this like he had helped her with everything else…

Daine looked over with a start. Filipen was gazing at her, warmth in his hazel eyes, but she realized his weren't the eyes she wanted to be looking into now. For some reason that made her blush further, and she hurried quickly to stand.

"In a rush, Daine?" Filipen asked.

"I'm sorry." She shot him an apologetic smile. "Thank you so much for your help, but I must find Numair."

"Numair?" Filipen didn't look best pleased, and she struggled to understand the unease in his expression.

"Yes. Of course- he's my teacher. He won't _believe_ what I've discovered today! To think, we'd never even imagined that it might go both ways, this wild magic, but…" She stopped, realizing she was rambling, but could not keep the grin from her face. "I'm sorry, Filipin," she called, light feet already on their way through the grass.

He stood, watching her go.

* * *

When Daine opened her door at the soft, insistent knocking, her heart hoped that it would be Numair.

_My heart?_ she chided herself. _Don't be ridiculous. You're merely excited about the magic and want to discuss it with him. _He hadn't been in his rooms when she had gone looking for him earlier. Perhaps he was looking for her now.

Still, she could not keep the disappointment from etching a small frown on her face as she opened the door to someone else.

Onua laughed at her friend's expression. "Expecting your swain rather than the horsemistress, Daine?"

Daine turned before Onua could see the heat in her cheeks. "Nonsense," she muttered, pulling the door open further so the K'miri could enter.

Onua clearly felt no compunction in teasing her, and needed no polite invitation to make herself at home in Daine's room. With a grin, the older woman pulled off her boots and settled on Daine's bed. "Sit," she commanded, patting the blanket at her side with one calloused palm.

Daine obeyed with a smile. "Still giving me orders, Onua?"

"Ah, Wild-mage or no, you'll always be that shy young girl I took under my wing those years ago. It's my job to coddle and order you about."

"Coddle?" Daine raised an eyebrow at the image of Onua coddling _anything,_ let alone her.

The K'mir laughed. "Alright, perhaps not _coddle_. Look after, then." Then Onua stopped, an inscrutable expression on her face. "It's not just my responsibility but my pleasure to do it."

_Oh dear,_ thought Daine. She gave Onua a weary smile. "You make it sound a chore," she teased, nudging her friend with an elbow before settling herself back against the headboard. "But you're very enigmatic. Are we talking important secrets now?"

The K'mir quickly regained the twinkle in her dark eyes. "There's nothing to be kept from you for long, is there Daine?" She laughed, shaking her head.

"What's that to mean?" Daine complained with a mock scowl.

"Only that you've always sought the answers to things before they're presented to you. Remember Hawk-Numair? You wouldn't leave be until you had all my secrets- and his." Onua shook her head with a sigh. Daine only shrugged; she supposed she couldn't argue with _that._

"I'll be quick with it, then, Daine," Onua continued. "Here's my secret." Not taking her eyes from the girl, Onua reached into her belt pocket, retrieving a soft black velvet pouch, which she handed to her friend without further ado.

The question was in Daine's eyes as she accepted the pouch, running the material between shaking fingers in silence. _What am I afraid of?_ she wondered, uneasy.

Looking down, Daine unraveled the silk tie and tipped something cool into her palm. Retrieving it with her other fingers, she held the small silver pendant on its chain closer to her face in order to examine it.

Wordlessly, she peered at the narrow silver circle, her heart quickening at its silent implications.

"It's the Goddess's circle, Daine," Onua said, after her friend remained silent for several moments, only staring at the necklace. "Do you know what it does?"

_That_ heightened the blush in Daine's cheeks. Still, somehow, she could not meet her friend's gaze. "I'm a midwife's daughter," she muttered finally. "Of course I know what it does."

Onua chuckled. "But I presume that particular midwife didn't give you one?" When Daine looked up, Onua met the pain in her eyes with her own firm gaze.

"No," Daine murmured softly, memories flashing against the blue-grey of her expression. "Mayhap she would have done, but when she died I was just a girl. _She_ had more use for a pregnancy charm than I did." The last words provoked her own wry smile. Daine had made peace with her mother's liaisons. Only recently had she begun to think about that kind of pleasure for herself.

Onua's firm, calloused hand reached over to rest on Daine's empty one. "I hope you don't think me out of line, Daine. I don't pretend to be your mother, but…" She stopped, not sure how to go on.

"Of course not," Daine replied in earnest, her wide eyes meeting Onua's. "I thank you for it."

The Horsemistress grinned. "What a relief! I thought you might part shape-shift and bite my head off."

"Don't be silly," Daine chided. "Although I don't know why you thought of this _now_, in particular…" She stopped as she saw Onua's wicked grin. "What?" she asked, voice low, not sure she would appreciate the answer.

"Oh Daine, you know I don't listen to Rider gossip, but…well, I heard Filipen's been courting you."

"_Courting me?" _Daine started, eyes wide. "Well, we danced last night, and then….kissed a little, and then this morning…" She stopped, not sure how to continue.

Onua had already started cackling. "Only all of that? Poor girl." She wiped her streaming eyes. "If you don't call _that_ being shown a man's attentions, what on earth _were_ you expecting?"

Daine scowled at her friend, trying to settle her reddening cheeks. How much had she blushed in the last days? This was ridiculous. "I hadn't thought…" She stopped, shaking her head. "I didn't…" Finally she sighed. "Perhaps he is. What of it?"

"Nothing!" Onua cried, laughter still in her voice. "There's nothing to be ashamed of, Daine. You're a young woman after all, with all a young woman's desires, I should hope."

"Onua-" Daine started.

"No, let me finish, girl. I didn't give you the charm so that you would take Filipen to your bed." Onua held up a hand at Daine's expression. "Don't," she urged. "You don't need either to admit or deny it. You can come to me with it if you wish, of course, but I don't mean to invade your privacy." Daine closed her mouth. "I only want you to have the choice." The K'mir grinned. "There's a great pleasure to be had from using the Goddess's circle, but you'll find that out soon enough."

"_Onua…"_ This was too much. Daine didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Somehow, she felt like both.

"Worry not, girl-child. I won't say another world." Daine was still staring at her in wonder as the K'mir hesitated for a moment and then leaned over, kissing her firmly and quickly on the cheek. And then she grunted, pulling herself to her feet and easing on soft leather boots.

Daine watched in silence. "Onua?" she called softy, as her friend moved towards the door.

The Horsemistress turned, smiling down at her young charge. "Yes, Daine?"

There were words to explain how she felt, but though she reached out for them in her mind, she could not find them. She did only what she could as she brought over-bright eyes up to meet her friend's affectionate gaze.

"I…Thank you."

* * *

Night had already descended when Daine climbed the spiral staircase to her teacher's room. The chill was a sharp bite she warded off with heavy wool wrapped around her shoulders. To think, that only weeks ago she had been in Carthak, in the heat, wondering at Tortall shedding its leaves for the seasonal change. Now here she was, and things were colder than she remembered.

Daine hurried her steps, the heat of her fast pace offering her a little warmth, as she watched her own breath form small misty patches in the air. She could see the light under Numair's door and smiled in relief. He always had a fire lit; she could sit before it, warming her toes…

Her single knock produced no response, and Daine frowned. She had not found him earlier, and he had not been at dinner. Perhaps he was ensconced in a new spell, she thought, frown turning into fond smile, and had locked himself away all afternoon, not realizing the passing hours. That would be just like him.

When her second knock went similarly unnoticed, Daine grinned and reached for the doorknob. If he was drowning under magics he would need her to rescue him; it certainly wouldn't be the first time.

And with that thought, she began to open the door.

* * *

Numair looked down at the woman who was perched on the edge of his desk and smiled provocatively. He eyed the abandoned papers around and beneath her. "This was not quite what I had in mind when I thought of working here," he murmured, reaching out to tuck a single dark lock behind her ear.

Marina returned the smile luxuriantly. "I can give you a different kind of work, master mage," she teased, letting her nails graze his chest as she undid the buttons of his shirt. Numair smiled at the distraction of this pleasure-pain, though it did not quite reach his eyes.

"Can you indeed?" He did not move, enjoying watching her slender hands make quick work of his shirt. Only when she had finished unbuttoning him and had pulled the silk from his shoulders did he reach out and grasp the wrists that had settled at his waist.

He could hear, rather than see her surprise at his force. Her breath caught in her throat and then came faster, more ragged.

"I can," Marina murmured as he leaned forward to take an earlobe between his teeth. She winced as he bit, hard, and then smiled. "I had not expected you to be so…" Marina stopped as he inched forward, pressing a knee against her legs to part them further; and then he pulled her hips forward to meet his own.

"So what?" Numair rasped in her ear as his fingers pulled roughly at the ties of her dress.

Marina pulled back enough to look him in the eyes, bracing her hands on his shoulders. What she found there in the troubled depths made her pause. "So…angry," she remarked finally. Both surprise and desire were etched in her voice.

Numair looked down, hands busy with unlacing the silk underlay that covered her breasts. "I'm not angry." His fingers worked easily; they had done this often enough before. Only his voice was rough around the edges.

Marina shut her eyes as she laughed softly, leaning back and submitting to his hands. "That's alright, Numair, I can live with angry. I…" She was silenced by his mouth, hard on hers as he leant into her, and his hands inside her dress.

Numair shut his eyes, driving his hands over her body in a desperate search for satisfaction, for distraction, for release. His mouth on hers, he knew, was demanding and questioning, not giving or seductive. _What is wrong with me?_

And yet he already knew. He knew, as he reached for her face to hold tight against his own, that in his mind his hands were reaching for soft brown curls; that when he looked into Marina's face he saw not her hazel eyes but large pools of blue-grey; that his fingers traced over a generous mouth and grazed a stubborn chin…

_Gods, no. Daine…_ The fantasy of his hands on her face, her breasts, her thighs, was stamped irrevocably as if on the inside of his eyelids, so that even as he shut his eyes tight against the awful reality of his desires, there was no escaping them. What could he do but submit?

What could he do but submit to his own desperate, passionate anger, an anger that sought to punish them both: Marina, for not being Daine, and himself, for the awfulness of his desire?

Beneath his rough, insistent hands, Marina trembled.

She recognized his fury, and embraced it; and in the silence of his room, she allowed her body to bear the brunt of his grief.

* * *

At first, when she saw them, Daine froze.

Eyes, wide in the gloom, took in his broad, muscular back, dark skin highlighted by the movement of the flames in the fireplace, and could not look away. She gazed at the soft white legs of the woman she could not see, wrapped around his own. She saw the small, female hands, tangled in his long, coal-black hair, and was paralyzed. She had not realized it was possible to _smell_ desire, until tonight.

Daine did not even realize she had uttered a sound- was it a moan? a cry?- until the bodies before her froze for a moment, and then Numair whirled around to face her.

_His eyes…_She was shocked by the desire she saw there, by the brightness in them that spoke openly of his wanting. There was so much in his depths that she had never touched on before, never even known could exist there…

Daine's voice, when it came, felt as if it ripped something from her in order to be heard. "Numair, I…I'm so sorry, I…" She was broken. She was dying inside, and did not understand…

"Daine." And suddenly the depths she had seen in his dark eyes were closed to her, the desire thrust away, and she thought she read anger in its wake- or was it pain?

Daine swallowed, hard. Fleetingly she met the keen, intelligent eyes of the woman who peered at her from behind Numair's broad frame, and then she looked away. At her hands, which clutched the woolen blanket to her chest, at the floor, and then back to him.

Daine tried hard not to look at his naked upper body, at his hair, loose and tousled as it hung around his face, at his hands which still gripped the woman around her legs; and at the woman, whose breasts were bare in the half-light.

She tried, and yet somehow it burned in her vision and she could not look away.

Finally she swallowed, hard, backing up against the door she had opened only moments ago. When she heard his voice, it was so muffled by the sound of her own awful, rapid heartbeat and the panic in her veins that she did not register the pain in his strangled question.

"_Daine…_What are you doing here?"

She licked her lips, blinking hard. _Almost at the stair, almost gone. Leave now…_

"I'm sorry, Numair." She struggled to make her voice even, composed. "Only I wanted to talk to you about my healing this morning, it was something new, something I tried, I thought perhaps…" _Stop rambling!_ She shut her eyes.

When she opened them again, any pain or confusion she might have registered were long gone. Numair's face, despite the disarray of his body, was one of perfect blankness; his eyes were cold.

"As you can see," he said slowly, voice perfectly composed, "I am otherwise occupied. Perhaps academic matters can be dealt with in daylight hours, Daine."

The tightness in her chest was overwhelming; she wondered that she could still breathe. "Of course, Numair. I didn't think. I would never mean to…" Daine shook her head, not sure how to finish. Why did she feel like her heart was breaking?

And before he could say another word, she fled.

* * *

Marina watched the door close, watched the man frozen before her, and did know what to say. Finally, she cleared her throat.

When Numair lifted his face to meet hers, she almost wished that he hadn't. For a moment she didn't dare move; she wasn't sure what he would do if she touched him. Eventually she placed a cool finger on his cheek. He flinched, only for a moment, and then was still.

"Unwelcome visitor?" Her voice was as cool as her hand.

He shut his eyes. "Yes."

The beauty from the party. His student. She remembered.

So it was _her_ he was trying to drive from his body, from his mind.

Marina was not angry. They all had people to exorcise.

She reached for him. He came to her, and as she clasped him to her chest she felt the damp of tears against her bare skin. The need was still there, and she took him inside herself, until he cried out against her throat, and then there was silence.

* * *

Daine lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling. The Goddess's circle burned in her palm.

She was calmer now; the panic was gone, and the shame. Now she only wondered.

The memory of Numair's eyes was enough to startle her. She had seen nothing like it before. She had thought she had known him, had foolishly thought she had seen all there was to see in his dark, brooding gaze. Tonight she knew, for the first time, that she had not touched beyond the surface.

At the memory of Numair and the woman, their bodies intertwined, Daine shut her eyes again, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks, the coil of something deep down in her belly, the ache between her legs. She felt sick, and yet…

_Is this what desire feels like?_

Daine clamped her eyes shut against that single, troubling thought.

Even closed, the image of him, of his dark skin, flashed against her eyelids.

_Is this what I am afraid of?_

She tried, but could not sleep.

* * *

**A/N:Thanks so much for the lovely reviews I've had. To others, please, please PLEASE write me a review! It's like nourishment in these cold English winters;-)**


	6. Rue or Reverie?

**A/N: Sigh. So many chapters, so few reviews...I live in abject despair at my unloved state;-) Still, sadly I can't stop the chapters flowing from my fingertips, so no withholding from me. But I WOULD still love a review or two, so go on...make a girl happy!**

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Chapter 6**: Rue or Reverie?**

When Numair heard the knocking, he got quickly to his feet and was at his door before he had time to breathe: he was _not_ ready for another encounter like last night. Cursing under his breath, he laid his forehead against the cool wood for a moment. Would it be her?

_Do I want it to be her?_

When the voice came from the other side of the door, it was a low, warm baritone, quashing any hopes or fears that Numair might have had regarding facing his student so quickly after the embarrassment of the night before.

"Open up, Numair. By the Gods if I can't sense that immense Gift of yours from halfway down the corridor…I know you're in there."

Numair's eyes shot up in surprise, and he gripped the handle, pulling the door open. He knew that voice…

"_Tamalt?_" His eyes widened as he took in the tall, broad man he had not seen in years.

"The one and the same." Tamalt grinned, eyes bright behind the unruly brown curls that fell over his face, and reached out a large, firm hand to grasp Numair's. "Mithros, hasn't it been years? We are both old men now."

That remark felt rather too close to the bone this morning, but Numair did not begrudge his old classmate anything. With a tired smile he stood back, opening the door so the mage could follow him inside.

"It has been years," he remarked thoughtfully, ushering Tamalt into a chair by the fireplace. The embers were still warm from last night. "I'm surprised you knew to look for me, indeed recognized..."

Tamalt laughed without abandon, settling back into the seat made for a man as tall as he was. "Don't be a dolt, Numair. Why, you're as dark and brooding as ever." He grinned. "And don't think I haven't been following you and your developments. We black-robe mages must keep a keen eye on each other, don't you think?"

Numair did not falter as he met Tamalt's bright, intelligent gaze. The mage's voice was playful, but the natural competition bristled in the air between them. Numair remembered then, that as boys in Carthak they had been companions, but never quite friends. Perhaps they had both been too talented, too closely matched for friendship.

Numair smiled wryly as he folded his long body into the chair opposite. "I must admit, I had noticed when you acquired your robe. But…" He paused, wondering what Tamalt knew of his past, of Ozorne, of his betrayal, of his escape. "Many things have changed since then."

"That they have." Tamalt's look was intense and knowing. "I'm glad I escaped Carthak before you did…Aram."

Numair's smile was tight. "Well, you already know of my name-change. Do you come here to make trouble for me?"

Tamalt's eyes widened for a moment in surprise before he collected himself. And then he looked inquisitively at his one-time childhood companion. "You are not the man you were, are you, Numair?"

"Not in the least, no."

Tamalt nodded. "I can believe it. Only, the Aram I knew would never have asked a question like that in such a forthright manner." He grinned. "If he wasn't distracted enough by his studies as to miss a visitor, he would have 'hummed and hahed' his way around in abject politeness, trying to ascertain my purpose."

Numair smiled. Tamalt appeared to have changed less than he had. "I am a political man now, Tamalt, by necessity." He paused. "But you must know that; surely you know they call me King Jonathan's pet mage…"

Tamalt smiled, sharp enough to read the question underlying Numair's careful statement of loyalty. "As I am the Marenese pet," he returned easily. "So you do not need to worry about my alliances. Our Maren is not a major player like your Tortall. But still, the King sent me here, in support."

Numair quickened at this. "Support?"

"Certainly. Of your King Jonathan's admirable plan. Maren isn't so much an out-of-the-way backwater country to have missed the spate of Immortals in our midst." His smile was broad but not friendly as he spoke of the unwelcome visitors. "Perhaps you and I can put our pet-heads together and come up with something. That is…if you welcome me, Numair."

Numair's smile when it came now was unforced, his soft voice comfortable. "You are always welcome, Tamalt."

* * *

Alanna finally found Daine in the stables.

Her violet eyes were lively in the half-light. "Hello, youngling," she called as she spotted her younger friend grooming Cloud.

Daine peered over Cloud's rump. "Hello, Alanna. What brings you here?"

Alanna paused, reading the melancholy in her friend's voice. "I was in search of you," she offered finally, coming around to the mare's other side, and pulling a lump of sugar from her pocket.

Cloud neighed appreciatively, and Daine laughed. "She thanks you for it, Lioness. Though do knights normally walk around with sugar in their armor-pockets?"

Alanna grinned at that. "I'm not armored now, Daine. Besides- sugar rather than vinegar…"

Daine giggled. "I'll tell that to your opponents; perhaps then they'll fear you less in battle."

"Ah, no." The knight's voice was unusually gruff. "We can't have that." A pause, and then: "So how are you doing, Daine? Fully recovered from your Carthaki adventuring?"

_Carthak…Goddess._ It seemed many moons ago now, what with all the dramas since her return. Daine smiled wryly. "I suppose I am," she murmured finally.

"Good." Alanna's low voice was sharp, firm. "You shouldn't give that awful man a minute more of your thinking than you have to."

"I don't intend to, Lioness." Daine let Alanna lead her from the stables, one muscular arm a strangely pleasant support, gripped as it was around her shoulders. Behind them Kitten, keeping watch, chortled but remained where she was, whistling to Cloud.

"Where are we going?" Daine asked.

"Numair and I have someone for you to meet."

"_Numair…"_ Daine licked her lower lip gingerly. His name had escaped before she had thought to hold it back. "Why did he not…"

"Come himself?" Alanna finished. She had noticed her friend stiffen, and examined her face. There was pain there, and confusion, but she could not read any further. _What on earth is going on with those two?_ Alanna wondered in mild irritation. She thought she had talked some sense into Numair last week, but perhaps not enough of it had sunk in...

She gripped Daine a little tighter and urged her forwards. "Numair was entertaining our guest; I popped in on him this morning and met him myself. He asked me to come find you."

"Oh." Daine couldn't help it; despite her embarrassment, her curiosity was aroused. "Who is he?"

Alanna grinned. "A Maranese Mage. Doesn't that have a nice ring to it?"

Daine couldn't help but smile. "A Maranese Mage?"

"Yep. And a black-robe at that. Tell me, how long do you think we'll last before one of them challenges the other to a magical duel?"

Daine sighed. "I don't suppose Numair has a lot of competition all that often."

Alanna raised eyebrows over mock-innocent eyes. "Well, Daine, I think you may be right."

* * *

It occurred to Daine than Tamalt did not look all that much like a black-robe mage. But then again, she had only met one, and Numair did not look much like anybody else.

She had been nervous ascending the stairs with Alanna; she had felt panic like a drug in her veins, and almost stopped to tell her friend what had happened here the night before. Perhaps then Alanna would understand her embarrassment, her shame, and not make her go in.

Then Daine had sighed as she neared the door. She would have to face him at some point, he was her teacher after all, and perhaps sooner rather than later was preferable: a quick burn, and no time to dwell on it all horribly in her mind.

_It's only _sex_, Daine_, she chided herself. _He's a grown man, he can do whatever he wants with whomever he wants._ She only wished she had not had to stumble across it in person.

But now here she stood, in his room where she had stood the night before, and she had not yet fallen apart. Was it her imagination or did Numair avoid her gaze, turning as she entered to shuffle papers on his desk, hurrying to greet Alanna and letting Daine fend for herself? What did that matter? she asked herself, a lump in her throat. She was more than capable of looking after herself

Their visitor did not let her stand still in silence for long. Walking forward, he took one of her hands in his two large palms, and smiled down at her. "Kiss or handshake?" he asked her, mischief in his eyes.

Daine blinked. "I'm sorry?"

The tall man- as tall as Numair? she wondered- laughed, and it was a warm, rich sound. "I wondered if you would prefer a manly handshake or a kiss on the hand like a court lady?" he asked her lightly.

Alanna guffawed. "You didn't ask _me_ that, Tamalt. Only here five minutes and you're already flirting with our Daine…"

Daine blushed, extracting her hand from his. She deflected the question with her own. "Do you two know each other, then?" She looked between knight and mage.

Tamalt grinned, and Daine felt more at ease. He had a large, broad, friendly face, with sharp blue eyes and curls of brown, unruly hair, much shorter but otherwise not unlike her own. He did not _look_ like one of the most powerful men in the world; she realized, with a start, that she hand not thought that of Numair either, when they had first met on the road. How wrong she had been.

Like Numair, Tamalt was evidently at ease with his size, sitting down again in the chair he had left when she entered, making himself comfortable. She wagered he was only a few inches shorter than Numair, but more stocky. When he grinned up at her, blue eyes lively, she realized he had caught her staring, and blushed.

"We haven't met before now, no," he answered her earlier question, cocking his chin at Alanna. "Though I lived with the Bazhir for some time a few years ago, so I heard more than a little of the 'Burning-Brightly-One.'"

Daine looked quizzically at the knight as they both settled into Numair's chairs before the fireplace. "The 'Burning-Brightly-One'?" she asked.

Alanna's blush looked odd against her violet eyes. "I never cured them of that nickname," she muttered.

Daine still looked confused; Tamalt only laughed. "Like all sensible people of power, Alanna clearly underplays her mythic status."

"Mythic status my…" Alanna began in a grumble, before Tamalt's even louder laugh drowned out her profanity.

"Alanna freed the city of Persopolis when she was a page, Daine. The title was afforded her by the Bazhir and their prophets." Daine started at Numair's clear, musical baritone behind her. She could _feel_ him as he moved closer, but did not dare turn around and meet his face. She wondered if he could see her tremble.

She looked at her hands as her teacher settled into the chair beside her. _He sounds composed enough_, she thought. _Perhaps he's not embarrassed, like I am. Perhaps he's not even angry, only a little irritated…_

Tamalt's warm voice brought her from her reverie, and she looked up into his smiling face. "I hear you're a student of my former classmate Numair, here. But…" He paused, and she sat still, aware that he was reading her with his magic.

"Are you done examining me with your Gift?" Daine asked tartly. She had come to terms with her past, the endless futile tests of her Ma, desperate for a gifted daughter. Yet the look of puzzlement on people's faces still stung.

Tamalt met her eyes with his own. She watched his expression change, from surprise at her outburst to good humor. "My, you're a fiery one, aren't you?"

There was nothing she could say to that; opposite her, Alanna grinned.

"I don't have the Gift," she explained finally to Tamalt's interested face. "Numair teaches me because I have…"

"Wild Magic," Tamalt finished easily, and Daine started. "In fact, you have it in abundance. I've never _seen_ a person with so much."

Daine swallowed hard. She seemed to remember that Numair had said something similar to her when she had first arrived in Tortall.

Beside her, Numair seemed frozen in his chair. When she allowed herself a glance at him through lowered lashed, Daine thought she saw his hands tense as they gripped the armrests, though the ease of the rest of his body belied this.

"I didn't realize you had studied Wild Magic, Tamalt?" Numair said finally, his voice a little _too_ even, she thought._ Why his unease? _she pondered.

If Tamalt read the unease in Numair's voice, he chose to ignore it. "Well certainly neither of us would have learned anything much of it in Carthak," he responded easily.

_Carthak_, Daine thought with a start. They had studied together as boys? Why had she not heard of Tamalt before?

"I read of it a little during my time with the Masters, and at the City of the Gods," Tamalt explained. "But it was living with the Bazhir…frankly I can't believe mages still doubt its existence. If you live amongst the desert men even briefly you can't doubt it for a moment."

This was interesting. "Do they talk to their horses, then?" she asked, curious.

Tamalt smiled down at her. "Not in general, no. And their Shamans are Gifted, generally in the traditional sense. But the Voice of the Tribes- your King, currently- uses something like wild magic to commune with the tribes. It's like a harnessing of the _earth's_ power, rather than animals, but…"

"_Goddess,"_ Daine breathed, enthralled. "Numair mentioned something like that once, but I hadn't really understood then…" She shook her head. "It would be amazing to see that."

"I shall take you there if you wish," Tamalt offered with a warm smile. "I'm sure you'd have much to learn from the Bazhir."

Beside her, Daine felt Numair bristle. "She still has a lot to learn in _Corus_, Tamalt, before you tempt her away." The mage's words hung in the air, a bitter edge to his otherwise lilting voice.

Daine turned to her teacher in surprise. What on earth was that sharpness to his voice? Why did he sound so…possessive? Now she had gotten over her fear of looking at him, and he would not meet _her_ gaze.

Alanna cleared her throat, as if trying to clear the room of its sudden, inexplicable tension. "Well, Tamalt, evidently we all have a lot to learn from each other." She stood to her feet and held out a hand. "But first shall we settle our stomachs? Let us inundate you with Tortall's finest cuisine before you mages lose yourselves to your books and theories."

If Tamalt knew he was being carefully extricated from a peculiarly tense situation, he was too polite to make reference to it. With a broad smile he accepted the hand he was offered. "Lioness," he bowed over it in good humor. "By all means, lead the way."

Alanna walked briskly towards the door and Tamalt followed, leaving the mage and his student still frozen in their seats behind him. And yet something made him pause; as the knight descended the stairs ahead of him, he moved through the door but held one hand on it as he turned, peering back into the room.

For a moment there was silence and then he watched as the girl turned in her seat, bringing large, hesitant blue-grey eyes to stare at her teacher.

"Numair?" There was a soft aching in her voice that made Tamalt catch his breath.

Tamalt watched as Numair sighed, and then looked away from her, out of the window. "Yes, Daine" he said finally, and Tamalt wondered at the intensity of the man's voice even as he uttered such simple words.

He watched, enthralled, from the door, as Daine lifted an arm, tentatively, and touched the mage's shoulder. Numair flinched, and the girl quickly withdrew her hand. When he heard her voice, Tamalt knew that she was holding back tears. "Numair, about last night, I'm sorry…"

Tamalt winced and edged backwards, shutting the door quietly and making his way down the steps. He had not intended to intrude upon a lovers' quarrel, if that's what this was. He shook his head. He had _thought _Numair had seemed protective over the girl-child, and maybe that explained it. There was certainly _something_ odd between those two…

Tamalt smiled wryly as he raced to the bottom of the stairs and caught up with the Lioness. He had been anticipating difficult magics, Immortal attacks and some professional rivalry. He had _not_ expected to be privy to the delicate and temperamental relationships of the realm's most prized weapons.

Tamalt's smile broadened to a grin. Something told him he was going to enjoy his time in Tortall.

* * *

The clerk, Perin, came to fetch them before they had even finished the last bits of food on their plates. Daine could not believe they been summoned again already.

Sitting in Jonathan's private study now, she gazed up at the King, a look of abject exhaustion on her face. "Must we see you again so soon?" she asked, only the breath of humor in her words keeping them from rudeness.

The King grinned. "It is always a pleasure to see you, Verilidaine." He said her least favored name with relish. "And Tamalt…" He nodded imperiously to the mage who took a seat beside her. On her other side, Alanna and Numair made themselves comfortable.

Daine cocked her head and looked around the room. So far it seemed to be only the four of them present. She returned inquisitive eyes to the King, and raised an eyebrow. "Are we talking _really_ important secrets then, if even your officials aren't present?"

Jonathan smiled thinly, one elegant hand pulling at his blue-black beard. "I have a proposition for the four of you."

Beside her, Numair laughed, the rich cadence filling the room. "How like you to put it so diplomatically, Jon." He paused. "What have you got lined up for us, then?"

The King sighed. "How is the training of the visiting mages going?" he asked, deflecting the question initially.

"It's going well Jon," said Alanna softly. "You know it is, you spoke with Harailt this afternoon."

"Indeed. Which is why I know it will manage very well in your absence."

Confused, Daine looked around at her companions. Alanna had started forward in her chair, violet eyes wide. Numair was still but pensive, hand primed to tug at his nose in thought. She sneaked a glance to her left to watch Tamalt; _he_, strangely, did not look surprised in the least.

"Forgive me," Numair began, the surprise unhidden in his lilting voice. "But I thought…had we not been led to believe that our presence was necessary for the magical sanctuary? That we were all to be entailed in the working of new spells, theories…"

The King sighed. "Absolutely, Numair. And you are, you will be."

"I don't understand Jon," Alanna cut in, her voice sharp. "If we're so necessary here, where on earth could you send us of more importance? What would be the purpose of the magical training at all?"

From behind them came another voice: "Why, M'lady, a sneaky diversion of course."

Alanna jumped at the familiar sound and then, looking over her shoulder, cried out. "George!"

But before she had time to leap up and greet her husband, he had already hurried towards her and stood behind her chair, large hands on her shoulders as he planted a kiss on the corner of her mouth. "Hello, wife," he whispered, just loud enough that Daine as well as Alanna could hear.

_He's so good at being sneaky,_ Daine thought with admiration. _Did any of us even know he had arrived at the Palace? _It made sense, she supposed. Charm and evasion were part of his job, after all.

Greetings and kisses over with, George drew up a chair beside his wife, and the couple- and their companions- returned their attention to the King.

Jonathan smiled quickly at his formidable Spymaster. "George," he sighed. "Would you like to explain it to my powerful mages? They seem somewhat unhappy to be removed from the Sanctuary."

George sighed himself and leaned back in his chair. "Well, my friends, and- Tamalt is it?" The mage nodded affirmatively to George, and the men gripped hands in greeting. "News has reached us that nobles in Scanra- with or without the King's support, we aren't sure- are in league with various immortal tribes." George grimaced, and the expression wore deep creases into his tanned skin. "We've seen the like of it before, of course. Sinthya, themselves in Dunlath, Ozorne…"

Numair was leaning forward in his chair now, dark eyes bright with concern. "But you think this is different?"

"I think this is _worse_," George retorted. "Beyond that I don't know what to think." He sighed. "There are noble fiefs and holdings along the border, all of whom we think may be in league with an immortal group of their own."

Alanna whistled. "All along the border?"

Jonathan winced his reply.

"But…" Daine swallowed, hard. "The border with Galla, too, or just…?"

George's expression was grim. "Just Tortall. If Galla are in league with them too, then we're in _real_ trouble, we're practically surrounded in the North…"

"Is it war, then?"

Numair sighed, and reached out to pat Daine's hand gently. He seemed to have forgotten his unease with her earlier, or at least put it aside for the moment, and Daine breathed a sigh of relief.

"Not yet, magelet. Remember Pirates' Swoop?"

How could she forget? "So it's not war until the Scanran King declares it war, just like it wasn't war with Ozorne even though we _knew _they were his war ships…"

Jonathan looked sympathetically at his companions. "Indeed, Daine. If indeed this _is_ the work of isolated rebel nobles, then we may rely on the Scanran Court to discipline their own, but…" He sighed. "As it stands I am unsure where their alliances lie."

There was silence for a moment before Alanna spoke. When she did, her voice was hoarse."So what's next Jon?" Daine looked at her friend, sadly. _She's away from her family so much already. Must she be sent away again?_

George squeezed his wife's shoulder in support. "It's not so bad, lass," he bent to whisper in her ear, as Daine pretended not to have heard.

"I'm sending you all to Trebond," said the King finally.

"Trebond?" Alanna shot up in her seat, as George, behind her, stifled a laugh.

"Yes, Alanna." Jonathan smiled wryly. "I'm sure you'll appreciate a return to your former home. More importantly, I need a stronghold for you all in the north, somewhere you'll be close enough to the border to investigate or, gods help us, strike if they attack."

Numair laughed dryly. "And I imagine if we're quiet enough in our travels, it will be assumed we're still in the Court, amongst the magical training…"

George shook his head in open admiration. "Create a big enough diversion and nobody will think to question that some of the world's most powerful mages are working their own sneaky spells far away from the palace…"

Jonathan grinned. "I thought it was rather clever, myself."

Numair looked up in disbelief. "Do you mean that this entire endeavor, this magical training, the visiting mages…it's nothing but a political diversionary tactic?"

"Not at all," Jonathan reassured. "It will be extremely beneficial for all involved. While you are away, the lesser mages here will work on alerting and defending spells, we can train our own to protect themselves…Harailt and Lindhall with keep up their own workings at the University." He shrugged. "And you five will have your own sanctuary in the north."

"Five?" Alanna whispered, her voice cracking as the hope bled into her voice.

"Five, lass," returned George, as he bent to hug her. "I'll be traveling with you powerful ones."

Daine looked away, wanting to give the couple a moment of privacy as they embraced.

Beside her, Numair turned to Tamalt questioningly; the man _had_ been conspicuously silent.

"Tamalt?" Numair asked, eyes narrowing. "Why don't you look at all surprised?" When their guest only leaned back in his chair and grinned, alms folded comfortably over his chest, Numair sighed. "You knew all along?"

"What do you take me for, Numair?" Tamalt joked lightly. "I love a good old secret mission."

* * *

Numair looked at her expectantly as she left Jonathan's study. He was leaning against the wall outside, waiting for her. For a moment Daine couldn't breathe as she looked up at his tall, powerful frame, so gracefully held, and his dark face, his full lips…

She closed her eyes for a moment. _No_, she thought. _I can't let myself…_

Meeting his gaze, her own eyes seemed perilously close to releasing the tears she had been holding in all day in his presence. Somehow, she had the power to smile at him. She met the unspoken question in his eyes, shaking her head.

"I can't, go with you now, Numair."

Numair searched her face with his dark eyes. "Forgive me, Daine," he said softly. "Last night…I shouldn't have been angry, I…"

Daine shook her head rapidly before he could say more. "Don't," she pleaded, willing her voice not to break. "It isn't…You're a _man_, Numair, of course you…"

She could not finish, and it was just as well; her teacher was already coloring to the roots of his black hair. He shuffled on his feet nervously, and it was almost enough to make her laugh. "Shall we go to dinner?" he asked, eyes averted and fixed somewhere near his toes.

Daine smiled, a sad smile. "I can't, Numair. There's someone I must see."

_Someone who deserved her gaze, who deserved to make her heart beat faster, who deserved to make her dream of _him_ in her bed at night, when instead all she could think of was Numair. A man she could never have. _

And before he could say anything, she turned and walked away.

* * *

Filipen did not argue with her, as she feared. He merely held her hand for a moment, and then pulled her to him.

"You must go so soon?" he whispered into her hair, fingers tangled in her curls.

Daine nodded into his chest. "Yes."

"When?" He pulled back, to examine her eyes. She looked up into his hazel pools, and wanted desperately for her pulse to quicken and her heart to stop. When it only carried on in its unhurried, uninterrupted way, she forced a smile. Of course, these things took time. Time she now didn't have.

Filipen reached out and stroked a finger down her cheek, and she shut her eyes. _This feels…nice_, she thought. _Perhaps if I let it, it could grow to be something _more_ than nice. _

Her own hand played with the Goddess' circle, her pregnancy charm that hung on its own silver chain around her neck, behind the Badger's claw. Only yesterday Onua had given it to her and she had played with the idea that she might use it. Only last night had witnessing Numair in the throes of passion brought her closer to her own desire, coiled inside her belly, resting, waiting…

Now she was ready to leave again- for gods know how long- and she clutched the charm in her cold fingers, wondering if she would ever now need to use it.

"When?" Filipen asked again, eyes more insistent. "When do you leave?"

Daine looked down. They had been told to be quiet about their departure, and she had already revealed more, perhaps, that she should have. It seemed too cold not to tell him she was leaving, but beyond that she would have to leave him in the dark.

"I don't know," she told him.

"Will you tell me first? Come bid my goodbye?" he asked.

"Yes," she lied, and pressed her forehead against his chest.

His arms tightened around her. "But I haven't even gotten to know you yet, Daine," he said sadly.

"And I you."

He smiled through the dismay, wiping a curl from her forehead with a hand that seemed to shake slightly. "I've only seen the one side of you."

She looked up into his smile. "One side?" she asked, confused.

His fingers cupped her cheek. "Only your human side," he teased. "I've not even seen you change."

Daine looked at him for a moment, eyes bright. Here was a young man who was not afraid of her magic, who was intrigued by it, and she had to leave him already!

"Should you like to see me change?" she asked him, a small smile playing on her lips.

Filipen's eyes widened as he stared at her. "Could I?" he whispered, his voice somewhere between appalled and desirous. It made her heart hurt.

"Of course," she whispered. She raised her hands and laid her cool fingers over his. "What would you have me be?"

He was silent for a moment. "A swallow," he told her finally. "And then you can fly from my window in freedom." The flirtatious smile she remembered from the dance, only days ago, lit his face, and warmed her.

"As you wish." She bent and removed her boots. "You'll need to return these to my room," she told him calmly, before stepping away. And then, because she wanted one last human gesture for him to think of her by, she leaned up and kissed him firmly, gently on the lips.

"Goodbye Filipen." His name had barely left her mouth before arms shifted to wings, skin fluidly shifting to feathers as her clothes pooled on the floor.

The swallow named Daine fluttered for a moment before Filipen's pained, enchanted face, in silent goodbye, before she flew from the window and out into the night.

* * *

**A/N: REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW PRETTY PLEASE! And metaphorical, fictional kisses shall abound...**


	7. Reproof, then Reparation

**A/N: **Wow, this is a long one! I hope that's a good thing, mostly;-) It had to be, there was too much to say.

Thanks so much for the lovely reviews, and particular thanks to **le ange sans ailes** for continued support and encouragement and really sweet reviews :-) This one's for you.

**Chapter 7: Reproof; then Reparation**

They were packed, horses saddled and ready, and wrapped up warm against the cold before the dawn bell struck. Jonathan had wanted their departure to be as discreet as possible, which accounted for the hurry. Before sleep only the night before, they had each received word that they would be setting out at in the early hours. Daine looked down at her pack and was grateful, not for the first time, that she had few enough belongings to make the job an easy one.

Only leaving Kitten had been hard. Daine knew she would be far safer with Tkaa than she could ever be on the road, but it still left a lump in her throat to say goodbye. Kitten's farewell chortle-click-trill had been full of melancholy, perfect for adding to her ma's guilt.

Daine sighed. She couldn't think of Kitten now, there was work to be done. Nudging Cloud with her knee, she trotted over to Alanna, who sat, scowling, astride a restless Darkmoon.

_Shush, boy_, Daine calmed the fretting horse silently, reaching out a hand. Under her touch, he bristled a moment longer- for show- and then stilled.

_I don't like these early morning starts_, grumbled the horse.

Daine grinned. "You're a war-horse, Darkmoon, you'll have to put up with more than early mornings."

"Is _that _what he's complaining about?" Alanna sighed. "I'd tell your grandma on you if I could," she scolded. And then, thinking better of her retort, she leaned over and patted the creature affectionately on his broad neck. "Be good to me this week and when we'll get to Trebond I'll put you to pasture and feed you apples and oats to your hearts content," Alanna wheedled.

Daine laughed. "You're spoiling your horse, Lioness."

Violet eyes met hers and twinkled. "He spoils me, too; the least I can do is return the favour. I've owed him my life more times than I can count."

Daine smiled, thinking of the time she had first come across Lioness and horse; she had been overawed by both. Now, they were _both_ friends, a regular part of her life. _How things change_, she thought.

"Are we nearly ready?" she asked softly, in the morning chill, as she watched Tamalt and Numair saddle up. She winced as her teacher ungainly grabbed his gelding around the neck and hoisted his long body upwards.

_The stork-man still looks as if he is battling something when he mounts_, Cloud informed her. Daine could only agree. Despite his comparable size, Tamalt fared much better, she noticed out of the corner of her eye, and smiled wryly. _Well,_ she told Cloud silently, showing her the image of both mages side by side. _Tamalt seems to ride elegantly enough. Now I won't let Numair use his height as an excuse any more._

Cloud snorted. _You're like a mare in heat, choosing between two choice stallions. Which one will you pick, I wonder? I like stork-man the best, even if his seat is bothersome. _

_Neither! _retorted Daine, as loudly and firmly as she could imprint the instruction in mindspeak. She tried to ignore the flush she could feel under her skin.

_Don't fidget,_ replied Cloud calmly. _You must stop fidgeting when you're nervous, I find it quite irritating. _

Daine bit back a reply and focussed on stilling nervous limbs and cooling the blush in her cheeks at Cloud's comment- even though none of her companions could hear her.

When she looked up, Alanna was peering at her inquisitively, but only shrugged when Daine rolled her eyes. Daine's companions quickly became used to the peculiar sight of her silent animal exchanges, particularly with Cloud, who managed to make Daine both blush and scowl on a regular basis.

"Where's George?" the girl asked suddenly, keen to change the subject.

"Sorting out spy-matters with Jonathan as we speak, I gather," Alanna replied. "But he'll be with us by nightfall I hope. We'll spend the night in Port Caynn and he'll join us there. Oh, Daine, speaking of male companions…" The knight trailed off, cocking her head at something behind her.

Daine looked over her shoulder and her heart lurched. _Oh dear…_

Looking bleary-eyed, surprised, and then hurt in the space of a moment, Filipen stood by the stable doors staring up at her. Beside her, Alanna quieted Darkmoon and was silent. To her other side, Tamalt and Numair halted their whispered conversation as they saw the young man.

Daine looked at the mages beside her, and then at Filipen. "Is this how Ma felt?" she muttered irritably under her breath. "Too many men underfoot…"

Clearly Alanna had heard her, for she chuckled softly. Daine shook her head and inched Cloud forward towards the Rider, hoping to speak to him out of the way of the others.

Clearly Filipen did not plan to afford her that choice. He strode forward, only the gentle hand that stopped Cloud's progress belying the anger in the rest of his body.

"Leaving so soon?" he hissed, hazel eyes full of hurt as he stared up at Daine, eyes flicking briefly and coldly to her male companions before they returned to her face.

Daine had been planning to dismount and embrace him once more in private; now she was glad for the height and distance her seat on Cloud provided. "Please, Filipen…" she murmured softly, still trying to keep their exchange between them alone.

"You told me you didn't know _when_ you were going," he retorted.

"I didn't!" Daine exclaimed hotly. "I only found out hours ago."

It was only a half lie, she reasoned silently. True, the short notice had given her little time to seek him out, but she had known she wouldn't tell him anyway. Daine was new at this, but she had a feeling she would not be keen on lovers' farewells.

His voice, when it came, was low and full of hurt. "You told me you would say goodbye."

Something tore at Daine's chest. How was it possible? Had she hurt him this much, already? She had not thought it possible…

Risking the cold, Daine slipped off a glove and leaned forward, extending a hand down to him. "Let me say goodbye now then, Filipen. I'm sorry."

The Rider looked at her pale, outstretched hand for a moment, and then stepped back. When she looked into his face it was coldly blank, though his eyes blazed, and small pink dots centred themselves in the middle of his pale cheeks.

"Don't bother, Daine," he shot back at her finally, unable to keep the hurt from his voice. Reaching into his breeches pocket he pulled something forth roughly, gripping it in one hand out of sight as he held it before him.

"You left this in my room last night," Filipin bit out. "I had been keeping it for you, but…" He looked up bitterly at her male companions, meeting Numair's frozen stare and Tamalt's raised eyebrow.

"Perhaps you'll have need for it while you're away," he spat out, throwing the object to the ground in front of her.

Filipen had already turned and was hurrying away, but four other pairs of eyes fixed on the object on the ground before them: Daine's pregnancy charm.

* * *

For a brief moment, the rest of the world ceased to exist.

Numair's eyes fixed on that small silver circle, and he froze. His breath stopped, his mouth half open. His hands, gripping the reins, were frozen still.

Eventually the thud of his pulse against his throat reminded him that he needed to breathe, and he tore his eyes away. Beside him, Alanna blushed a deep red for her friend. Stealing a glance at Daine he saw that her hands shook as they settled in Cloud's mane. Her eyes, too, seemed locked on that tiny object on the ground, as if she were trying to understand its secrets as it lay before her.

Numair shut his eyes for a moment. He did not want to register her expression; he did not want to think about why Daine might need a Goddess's Circle, or indeed why, _how_ Filipen had gotten hold of it. The words flashed in his mind- _"You left this in my room last night"­_- and he shuddered.

Well, he had wondered, and now he had his answer. He did not want it.

"But I don't…I don't understand how…"

Daine's small, broken voice pulled him from his reverie. He looked at her sharply. For a moment her eyes flickered to him, and then her blush deepened and she looked away.

In a small part of his mind, a voice howled with satisfaction: _Well, she stumbled across me and my indiscretions. Now I am privy to hers. _But that was cruel. She had not been indiscrete, not exactly. Nobody should have their night-time lives thrust so brazenly into the open as she had just had to endure.

Beside him, Numair vaguely registered Alanna reaching out awkwardly to pat Daine on the shoulder. Daine only winced in reply.

And then, before he even remembered their other companion, Tamalt had dismounted and was walking towards Daine and Cloud. They all three watched him as he calmly removed a leather glove, and then bent down to the floor, retrieving the small silver pendent and standing back up to his full, commanding height.

He smiled easily at Daine and then looked down at the charm in his hand. "This is a pretty necklace," he commented innocently. "Not that I know much about women's jewellery."

He ignored Alanna's sharp look, and focused on the embarrassed girl before him as he reached out and held the necklace to her. Daine accepted it hesitantly with an unsteady hand, her lips trembling for a moment and then settling into a smile.

"Th...thankyou," she whispered.

"Not at all," he replied jovially, registering the hope in her eyes that embarrassment had been somehow averted, that perhaps none of them knew what she was now clutching in her cold palm.

"Now, we've waited here long enough, don't you think? I wager your King will have our hides if we're not at Port Caynn by dusk. Shall we go?"

Daine smiled in relief, glad to have the attention elsewhere. "Let's," she replied, and hurried Cloud into a trot, leaving the others to follow her from the courtyard.

They had ridden for a few minutes before Alanna nudged Darkmoon forward and next to Tamalt. She looked over at the mage sharply, trying to read beyond the appearance of his relaxed expression. "I assume you know what that was, back there," she murmured quietly into the air beside him.

Tamalt shot her a wry smile. "I'm a grown man, Lioness; of course I know what it was."

Alanna was quiet for a moment. "That was kind of you, then. Daine…" she paused. "It's not that she hasn't been the subject of petty talk and court gossip before, but I don't think she's had to deal with…well, _that._"

Tamalt sighed. "I remember what it was like to be a boy, angry and full of lust at his age. Still, he needn't have embarrassed the poor girl."

Alanna thought about that, and smiled. Reaching over she clasped the mage briefly around the shoulder, a gesture of thanks and respect. "You are a true gentleman, Tamalt," she told him, and rode forward to meet her friend, far off on the road in front of them.

Behind them all, Numair rode, even more uncomfortably than usual, in silence.

* * *

The riding, fast and hard against the wind, did Daine good. By the time they stopped for lunch she was in much better spirits.

Her companions felt the mood shift, and relaxed with her. Tamalt even jokingly challenged Alanna to a swordfight, which she agreed to on principle, with the condition that he refrain from any "sneaky black-robe magics." As such, he lasted barely seconds before she stood above him, Lightning's point at his throat and violent eyes triumphant.

From the safety of the sidelines several yards away, Daine laughed, clapped and cheered in appreciation. Alanna grinned as she offered Tamalt a hand and helped haul him from the grass. "Swordplay is over, Master Nanderin. But perhaps you'd like a casual game of archery with Daine, here?" she asked innocently.

Tamalt looked over at Daine's crossbow, leaning against their packs, then to the girl in question, and then back to the vicious-looking bow. He raised an eyebrow. "I take it Mistress Sarrasri is quite the warrior with her weapon of choice?"

Alanna's lips twitched. "She might be."

Tamalt sighed in mock dismay and reached behind him to wipe the dirt from his breeches. "You ladies certainly know how to emasculate a mage. How on earth do you keep up, Numair?"

Numair smiled benignly, looking up from the journal he was writing in. His quill hovered in mid air in one large hand for a moment, as he appeared to ponder the question. "Oh, I don't even try anymore," he offered finally. "I find immediate acquiescence quite sufficient."

Tamalt grinned, and shook his head. "I know good advice when I hear it." He cocked his head at Alanna and began walking off in the direction of a small clump of trees beyond the field. "Come on, Lioness," he called over his shoulder, as she trotted to keep up with his long strides. "Let's go explore. I want you all to myself so I can pick your brain about your Bazhir tribe before that lofty husband of yours arrives…"

Daine smiled as she watched them go. They were silent for a few minutes. "Perhaps this will be fun," she murmured finally, surprise in her voice.

Beside her, Numair returned the smile. "Perhaps it will," he replied quietly. "I think we both probably deserve a little fun, don't you?"

Daine cut her apple into chunks, and handed him half. "Some of us have already been having it," she teased, raising an eyebrow at him meaningfully. For a moment he looked shocked, and then puzzled, as if he wasn't sure whether to be shocked or amused; finally he laughed.

Daine was surprised at herself. Only yesterday she had been beyond herself with embarrassment. Somehow, now they were leaving the palace behind, she felt much calmer about it all. About Filipen. About Numair. About the new, confusing feelings that kept her up at night. She tried to decipher them for a moment, and then gave up. She shook her head. Things had a way of explaining themselves, eventually.

"What are you writing?" she asked between bites, nodding at his journal.

"Ah, just reports."

"Like at Dunlath?"

Numair smiled wryly. "Like at Dunlath. I'm not sure Jonathan expects them, but it's become something of a scholarly habit."

Daine sighed loudly in mock regret. "We could _try_ and take the scholar out of you, but I'm not sure we'd get very far," she told him.

"No, I'm afraid my bad habits are well and truly ingrained by now, Daine. I doubt you'd have much luck in attempting to transform me."

Daine smiled at him, relieved that things were not so strained between them. "I wouldn't want to change anything about you, Numair," she said softly.

Numair gazed at the piece of apple in his hand. "Would you not, Daine?"

"No." And then, after an awkward pause, she grinned. "Think, you'd be denying me a scapegoat if you weren't a _little_ odd."

Numair rolled his eyes. "So pleased to be of service, my dear," he retorted, voice overly dry.

They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments as they busied themselves with food preparation. It occurred to Daine that this part of their relationship- the travelling, the easy companionship, where they had learnt over the years to work efficiently with and around each other- still felt as good, as comfortable, as it had always been. Perhaps it would be good for them to be away from Corus. Not that she hadn't been _glad_ to return home after Carthak, but she was beginning to wonder if part of 'home' wasn't rather wherever she and Numair were, together.

Now _that_ was an odd thought. She pushed it away.

Still, there was something good about being on the road again; about the simplicity of it, everything pared down to the basics: travel, eat, sleep, hunt. The natural world.

Beside her, Numair cleared his throat. "Did you want to tell me something, Daine? About your healing the other day?" He blushed slightly under his dark skin. "I seem to remember I was a little undressed last time you broached the subject."

Daine giggled. Somehow, they were both managing to be very silly about it all, and strangely, it seemed to be working. "I did, yes." She chewed a piece of bread for a moment as she thought about how to explain it all. "It was very odd," she said finally.

"Odd in what sense?" Numair watched her from beneath dark lashes.

Daine shook her head, still unsure about what exactly had transpired. "I don't know exactly how it came about," she explained. "It suddenly occurred to me how tired I was, and then that I hadn't used my copper fire since Carthak…" She shuddered.

Numair finished her thought for her. "I can imagine you would be wary about using the full extent of your power, given the magnitude of the Hag's interference."

"Exactly." Daine grimaced for a moment, before shaking off the expression and taking another bite of the tart apple. By the time she had finished chewing she had thought of a way to begin explaining it to Numair. She knew he would help her make sense of it.

"It was something you said, actually, at breakfast."

Numair's eyes narrowed in confusion. "Something _I_ said…"

"About power. About sharing. About teaching people to help themselves."

The memory of that morning had not been far from Numair's mind; he remembered the pain of seeing her, of wondering if she had bedded that Rider the night before, and then seeing him again… Now, he shook his head, trying to clear it of the ache. Well, he knew now. They were lovers, or had been. She was his student, nothing more…

_Concentrate Numair, on the point in hand. Concentrate. _

Finally he collected himself. Not looking at her, he pulled his long legs up and leaned forward, resting his elbows on them and staring at the woodland their companions had disappeared into. "I remember," he told her simply.

"And it occurred to me," she continued, unaware of his dismay. "I know that my magic doesn't drain me, not in the same way the Gift can be drained. But it's still fair exhausting."

Numair laughed softly. "That's the grandest understatement I've heard in a while, Daine. I know how much it takes out of you."

"Yes," she said, thoughtful. "That's true. And so I don't know why it didn't occur to me before…" She shook her head in wonderment at the memory. "But I _showed_ her, you see. I didn't use my magic at all, except to open my mind to her." She could see Numair's face light up in interest, see the dance of questions, speculations behind his intelligent eyes as he analysed her words. But he was silent, so she continued.

"I didn't know if it would work. I'm not sure the People _could_ look into my mind, not unless I guided them in…but it was like showing them something, except instead of bringing my thought _out_, I brought Maisie _in." _She scrunched her nose, dissatisfied, not sure she was explaining herself well enough for him. "I'm sorry, I don't know…"

"Go on." Numair's voice was eager, encouraging; it warmed her. Far all her teasing, she loved his academic curiosity.

"Well…I collected my learnings together, like in meditation, organising them in one part of my mind so she could see them. Then I showed her how to use _her_ copper fire to heal her paw, instead of mine…"

"Incredible," Numair breathed, excitement painted onto every feature of his dark face. _"Incredible. _I would never have imagined…" He laughed, tugging at his nose. "Of course, your wild magic has surprised me at every turn. You are so very gifted, I know I should cease to be amazed when you hone your skills and develop them further than I had ever dreamed, but…"

Daine blushed. He was exaggerating of course, and now she was embarrassed. "Don't be silly", she scolded.

"Magelet?" There was such a passion for knowledge in his voice that it pulled at her heart. He reached out, clutching her shoulder. "Don't you _see?" _he breathed. "What an amazing time it is to live in…How fortunate I am to be part of such amazing magical developments…"

This was getting sillier and sillier. Daine hid her head, overwhelmed. "Numair," she warned.

There was silence, and then Numair laughed softly, pulling away from her. "I apologise," he told her, voice lilting. "Occasionally my intellectual excitement escapes me, and I realise, completely unfettered it is somewhat…intimidating."

They were silent for a few moments; Daine let him think, she knew he was piecing together her words inside his mind, shifting them over his past experience, over his and others' hypotheses, over the books he had read…

"So you were able to share your wild magic with her," he said, more a statement than a question.

"Yes, I…I suppose so."

"But you didn't use your _own_ energies? No, I suppose it makes perfect sense, the wild magic you have is, after all, an extension of what _they_ have, only in your form you have much more control over it than they do…" He looked at her sharply. "Her copper fire…it was the same as yours?"

She wrinkled her nose, in thought. "It _looked_ the same. The colour…I don't know if it was exactly the same."

"And you could guide her with no detriment to yourself, you own power or strength?"

Daine laughed. "That I don't rightly know," she admitted. "It was _exhausting,_ like meditation only much more draining. It took hours apparently, I didn't even realise until I woke up and…" Daine stopped, suddenly, remember how she had awoken to find herself facing Filipen, their hands intertwined. She looked down, trying to keep her blush hidden.

But Numair was not even looking at her. Facing the woodland, he was struggling to rid his mind of the image of her as he had found her that morning, that boy's hands in her laps, her expression so content, so serene…

He pulled himself back from the thought. That way lay madness, he knew that. Shifting on the grass, he looked back at her. "It may just have been the natural exhaustion of a new procedure," he offered finally.

"I thought so," Daine returned. "I remember with the otter, the first time I healed…that took me _days_ to recover. This was different, but…" She shrugged.

"Hmm." Numair's fingers tapped lightly, rapidly upon the grass beside him, as if trying to keep up with his thoughts. "Have you tried again since?"

"Not yet." She grinned. "We have been somewhat occupied, with new visitors and missions and all."

_Not to mention new lovers and embarrassing encounters,_ she thought to herself. But she didn't have to remind him of that.

"Indeed." Numair flashed her a broad, dashing smile, eyes dancing; for a moment her breath halted at the sight of him. She knew he was still taken with the excitement of this magical development. It felt good to be smiled at like that by him, even if it were only a response to his interest in her magic. _Of course it is_, she scolded. _Why else would he be interested? It's the only reason he teaches you, remember…_

Of course. It was a sobering enough thought. Daine opened her mouth, about to ask him what he thought about it all, when she saw the advancing figures of Tamalt and Alanna. "They're returning," she said instead, gesturing into the distance. "I suppose we will have to be on the move again."

Numair sighed, beginning to pack away their gear. "You're right. Our magical explorations will have to wait. Let me know as _soon_ as you come across an animal to heal, and we'll go through it together. I want to observe you the next time."

Daine's lips fixed into a wry smile as she pulled herself to standing, wiping the stray grass from her behind. "Of course you do. And I shall."

Numair smiled his response. Then mage and student returned their attentions to the forgotten food, and their packs, and were ready to go and silently waiting when their companions returned.

* * *

As expected, they reached Port Caynn within a day's ride. It was before dinner when they entered the inn, an out-of-the-way building none of them had frequented before. Daine adjusted her eyes to the lack of light; the inn's main room had small windows, and the little glass there was looked as if it held a century's dirt and grease. Beside her, Numair grimaced. Catching his expression, Alanna laughed. "George suggested it," she explained as they made there way forward. "The idea _is_ to be discreet, remember."

Tamalt grinned as he looked around. "I don't suppose anyone would think of searching for us here," he acknowledged, letting his pack slip to the floor as they awaited the innkeeper.

"Still glad you left Maren?" Numair asked him dryly, turning to grin at his old companion.

Tamalt rubbed his hands together in a show of excited anticipation. "Don't worry, Numair. I wouldn't miss this for the world." He sniffed, taking in the smell of old ale and smoke. "Even _this,"_ he joked.

"I don't care how pretty it isn't," Daine sighed. "I just want a hot bath and a bed."

Alanna clapped her on the shoulder as the innkeeper hurried from the kitchens towards them. "I hope that much, youngling, can be arranged."

* * *

Somehow, she found herself outside his door that night.

Daine grimaced at herself in the dark. She ought to have learnt by now… Not that she thought he had a woman in there with him. He might have done, of course, but she had listened at the door for a while and could hear him muttering to himself in Old Thak. Unless there were terms of endearment in Old Thak she didn't know about, she guessed he was probably just being scholarly.

Still. It was his room. At night. A few months ago it wouldn't have crossed her mind to hesitate, but since Carthak, things were…different.

_Stop it_, she scolded herself. She was here because he was her teacher, but more than that, because she could trust him. She needed his help. And- perhaps most of all- because she needed to repair what was between them.

Taking one more deep, balancing breath, Daine raised her slender wrist and rapped on the door. Immediately there was silence; the muttered Old Thak halted. Then she heard the sound of rustling, of footsteps, before the door opened slightly, and he peered out into the darkness.

"Daine?" He was surprised, she could tell. She blushed. _This was a mistake…_ But before she could turn away, he had pulled the door open wider. "Come in."

She hesitated only for a moment before stepping inside, fingers clutched together in nervousness. Her feet paced his floor for a moment before she stilled. When she turned, he was leaning against the door, watching her, his expression inscrutable.

"Hello," she said simply. It was all she could think of to say. And then: "I have a favour to ask." She wondered if her nervousness was as evident to him as it was to her, little ripples in her stomach and her heartbeat much too rapid, chest tight.

"By all means, ask away." He had not moved yet, but stood watching her still, back to the door.

Daine reached into the pocket of her breeches and touched the pendant, pleased at the coldness of the silver against her shaking fingers. Scared to hold it out to him. Perhaps she didn't need to. When she looked up, his eyes were fixed on her hand, having followed her movements, and were dark; knowing.

Finally she pulled the charm out and held it before him in her open palm. "I suppose you do know what this is, after all," she said, trying to keep her voice light.

Numair stopped, trying to quieten the many thoughts that threatened to overwhelm him at once. Should he lie, to prevent her blushes? Should he admit that of _course_ he knew what it was, and hear her out? Should he send her back to bed with firm words about the impropriety of the entire situation?

In the end, coherent words left him. "Yes," he managed, and looked at her.

Her eyes were bright as they held his. He saw fiery spots on her cheeks, and her lower lip trembled. "It's a pregnancy charm," she said.

Numair smiled wryly, struggling to keep himself in check. Trust his magelet to be as direct as possible. He loved that about her- normally. "Thank you, Daine. I know what it is."

"Oh. Of course." She looked down, cheeks stained an even deeper red, and he winced. He hadn't meant to embarrass her further.

"What can I…" Now it was his turn to blush, though he was thankful it was less evident under his darker skin, and in the half-light of his bedroom. "What can I do for you, Daine?"

She licked her lips gingerly. "Will you help me? I don't…" She grimaced. "I don't fancy a repeat of this morning."

Numair's breath caught as he stared at her, unable to prevent his dark eyes from widening. _Gods, has she been put here to test me?_ He had to have faith in his self-control if he were to continue teaching her, particularly considering the onslaught of his recent, troubling feelings. And yet here she stood, in his bedroom at night, looking up at him with those soft blue-grey eyes, asking him for help. For help with her _pregnancy charm? _Mithros…

"Perhaps Alanna…" he began, and then stopped. Was this common sense or cowardice on his part? He didn't have time to decide before she stepped towards him.

"Perhaps," Daine said simply. "But you are my teacher."

His heart ached; would she hear it in his voice? "Yes. Yes I am." _What does she want from me?_

He could see the hesitation in her eyes; it was hard for her to do this, he knew. But her stubborn chin jutted forward; she was determined. She had made up her mind.

"Then will you help me? Look at this." He could see her hand shake slightly, but she raised her hand up close to his face, the Goddess's circle on her open palm, demanding his attention. "I'm not a girl, Numair." She tried to smile through her nervousness, but her voice was halting, ragged. "I don't know _what_ I am exactly, but I am your student, and I still need your help…"

And then her smile collapsed, and he could see the tears held back in her bright eyes. She was scared. She was scared, but Gods, so was he.

_My student. My student. Nothing more, nothing less. Just as it had always been. _

"I don't know what has happened between us," she whispered. "Things feel…odd."

He reached forward, wanting more than anything to take away the pain so evident in her eyes. He hesitated, but only for a moment before he held his hand over her outstretched palm, his skin against hers, and the cool silver between them. "I'm sorry," he whispered, trying to keep his voice even, when it felt to him like it might break at any moment. "I'm sorry things have been strange." How could he explain? How could he explain to her, of all people, how scared he was about what had changed between them, about what it might mean.

But he knew he could not lose her. He knew that somehow they would have to get past the awkwardness of these last days; past the embarrassment of her having walked in on his affair; past his desire for her, his _student; _past his jealousy at others who would dare to look at her as he had done.

Perhaps this was the first step.

"Let me help you, then," Numair said softly as they stood, frozen, facing each other, hands awkwardly clasped. "Tell me. Tell me what you need."

There was relief in her face, tempered by her lingering uncertainty. "It disappeared," she stammered, blush returning. "I don't know…when I shape-shifted, in his room…"

"Ah." He breathed out. "I see."

So this was what she wanted from him. Some of his magic, some magic that would hold her charm to her, like the badger claw, so that it would be hers through human or animal form. So that she could use it as it was intended to be used.

He would not think of it further. She had asked him for his help, and he would give it to her. What else could he do?

Numair carefully withdrew his hand, taking the pendant in his long fingers and bringing them to his mouth. Closing his eyes he whispered words silently above it, but she could not understand them. She watched, wide-eyed, as he ran his thumb over the charm.

"Turn round." She obeyed, silent. She could feel his warmth as he advanced, standing at her back, and she shut her eyes. She could _feel_ it, and almost gasped as his arms slipped around her neck and she felt his hand graze her collarbone. Could he tell she was shaking?

One cool finger pulled the badger's claw from her neck and she heard him murmur something else, could feel his breath against the back of her neck.

And then he was gone. Daine opened her eyes, feeling cold suddenly. She turned.

His eyes were dark, though his mouth curved into a smile as he met her gaze. "You won't lose it now," he said simply. "I've bound it to the claw. Even when you shift…" He shrugged, not sure how to finish.

Daine struggled to smile, missing the feeling of his presence at her back, of the feeling of his fingers on her skin. It had been a brief moment, but one that felt more intimate than anything she had ever experienced before.

_Oh Goddess. Goddess, what am I doing? Why did I ask this of him, what did I need to prove?... _

"Thank you," she whispered.

Numair nodded, but turned away. He turned instead to the desk, busying himself with papers that he barely saw as he shuffled them beneath his own trembling fingers.

She turned to go. She had already begun to open the door when she heard his voice. "Daine?"

She turned on a breath, but he was still standing at his desk with his back to her. "Yes?"

There was a pause. "Nothing. You are wise to be careful." She waited, waited for something, not knowing what it was. But it never came.

"Goodnight, Daine," he said finally.

"Goodnight., Numair."

And then she fled.

* * *

**A/N: Come on gals, isn't it embarrassing having your contraception outed in public? ;-) Even back then, what a nightmare...Please feel free to tell me what you think by pressing the little 'Go' butten just down there...**


	8. Revelations

A/N: Thanks so much again to everyone for your lovely reviews, I'm so glad you're enjoying it. Please keep letting me know what you think! Special thanks go out again to **le ange sans ailes** and **sylvanius **for your encouragement.

**Chapter 8: Revelations**

* * *

Alanna heard the figure at her window before she saw him.

In the darkness of her room he was only shadows and blurred edges, but she had heard the scuffle sure enough, and the unmistakable sound of a window being inched open.

Warrior's reflexes only temporarily marred by slumber, Alanna was out of bed before the intruder had slipped inside, and at his back before he had time to turn.

Alanna was used to being shorter than her assailants, and so also well versed in the moments she could use her height to her advantage - such as now. Gripping the nape of his neck with one strongly-muscled hand, she reached up and under with the other, bringing her blade tip to his throat. There had been no point in scrambling for Lightening in the dark; her hand dagger would have to do. Quick wits had given her the advantage, and now she would see what he was about.

"Do you make a habit of dropping into young girls' rooms?" she drawled, letting the blade nick his skin.

There was silence, then a throaty laugh that stopped her breath, and finally the lilting voice she knew.

"You're not a girl, Alanna. You're all woman, and you have me to thank for that."

"George!" Her heart beat wildly in her chest. Then she scowled, pulling the blade away as he turned.

If she could have seen his eyes in the midnight dark, they would probably have been dancing. "Is this revenge, lass, for all those years ago? If so, I think I've the raw end of the deal, for I seem to remember _I _was unclothed back then…"

"And I was a boy," she retorted. "Must you always break the rules? I could have killed you, you ruffian!"

"Then come love me now, to make up for it." He reached for her, strong arms drawing her to him.

Alanna let herself be drawn. "Could you not enter the door like a normal husband?" she muttered against his chest, but her arms snaked around him; it felt too good to have him near to waste time on arguing.

George's laugh was muffled against her hair, but he drew back enough to whisper in her ear. "You wouldn't know what to do with a normal husband, lass. Be thankful for your ruffian, even if he is a tad unorthodox."

He released her only in order to begin tugging off his boots. Alanna felt her way to the table, reaching for the candle. But before she could flick her Gift at it, George laid a hand on her arm. "Don't." He nuzzled against her neck. "We won't need light for what we're about to do..."

Alanna enjoyed his ministrations for a moment, then pulled away and slipped between the sheets. She grinned, listening to the sound of his clothes hitting the floor. As she had known since long before that encounter of her youth, George liked to sleep bare.

"What, sleep, you mean?" she teased as he slipped into the bed beside her.

"Nothing as restful as that," George replied huskily, the smile in his voice, and drew her closer.

Alanna yelped briefly as his cold feet brushed her legs, and then pressed her mouth to the hollow of his throat.

They were on the road again; she could not remember the last time they had been _still_. But with him in her bed, she was a little closer to home.

* * *

It was early when Daine made her way down to the inn's cramped dining room, only a little after dawn. She had woken in a bed that felt peculiarly empty: no Kitten, tucked into the hollow of her knee, no feline visitors, or sparrows outside her window ready to greet the day. These absences, it occurred to her, were the less agreeable parts of being away. It would be nice to have some warmth and company in her bed.

Daine flushed and pushed that thought away before it could develop into something else _entirely_; instead she found a seat and began to examine the food that had, thankfully, been laid out in preparation.

Her mouth was full of sweetbread when a warm voice made her look up. Tamalt was standing in the doorway, curly hair tousled by sleep.

"Good morning, Daine."

Daine had to chew for a few moments before she could smile. "Morning," she retuned shyly as he took a seat opposite her.

On closer inspection she felt immediately more at ease. Not only was his hair a mess, but his cheeks were flushed with sleep, and stubble grazed his chin. For all he was a black-robe mage, one of the most powerful in the world, he looked at this moment more like an overgrown schoolboy, woken long before his due. She did not realise she was smiling at the picture of him until he raised one thick brown eyebrow in question.

"Do I amuse you, Daine?" _He _was the one that sounded amused; she could only blush.

"Sorry," she muttered, looking down at her plate until his warm laugh reassured her.

"Not at all. I'm sure I paint _quite_ the pretty picture this morning. I'm not used to performing my ablutions in such cramped quarters."

Daine thought of her own tiny room and its cracked mirror, and smiled. "You should see Numair. He can be so vain sometimes it puts him in a foul mood if he doesn't have the luxuries of hot water and his soaps and scents." Perhaps she was being unfair, Daine knew; Numair had changed, if he had ever been as she was describing him now, but it was a fond memory nonetheless.

Tamalt smiled. "As a young man he was the same. Always proud of that mane of his…Mine's too much a mess to care two hoots about!"

Daine grinned at his brown curls, not unlike her own. "You have my sympathies, Master Nanderin."

The mage snorted. "I think I have your good humour rather than you sympathy, but I thank you. And call me Tamalt. If we are to eat, work and travel together, we should be on first name terms, don't you think?"

Daine paused for a moment, and then smiled. "Thank you Tamalt. Then you may have both my good humour _and_ my sympathy, if you wish."

Tamalt laughed. "Now _that's _a better start to the morning than I imagined."

The mage helped himself to the bread, fruit and meat in the middle of the table, and the pair sat and ate in silence for a few minutes. Daine studied him as they ate, beneath lowered lashes. He looked to be about the same age as her teacher. Had they been friends? Had they been close? She had not heard of him before. Only days ago she had missed their reintroduction, and since, had wondered what their relationship was.

Eventually, Daine decided there was no point keeping her curiosity to herself.

"How long have you know Numair?" she asked.

"Since we were teenaged boys. We trained together in Carthak." Seeing the shift behind her eyes, Tamalt sighed. "I left long before his troubles started. We met as boys, both far from home. And then we became young men together. Then I returned to Maren, And Arram- Numair- remained."

Daine nodded. She had wondered how a mage as powerful as Tamalt was had escaped the clutches of the Emperor. Perhaps he had only got out in time. For a moment her thoughts clouded with the memories of _there_, of her terror at Numair's vulnerability- a terror that hadn't quite left her since.

She struggled to move them from her mind. She had other challenges to face now, there would be other battles, and things that needed to be left behind.

His voice cut through her thoughts.

"And you?" Tamalt asked, drawing her attention back to him. "How long have you and Numair…" He paused, not sure what verb best suited their enigmatic relationship. Now _this _was something he meant to get to the bottom of…

"Since I was thirteen," she replied, confused at the look of surprise in his broad face. "What?" she asked. She blushed under the weight of his gaze.

Tamalt examined her closely. "That seems awfully young."

Daine frowned. Why was the mage being cryptic all of a sudden? She had her very _own_ mage to be irritatingly elusive with her, she didn't need another! "Young for what?"

Tamalt was silent for a moment as he continued to examine her, as if he expected her to breathe out and reveal herself to him. Then he smiled, easily, feeling bad for putting her on edge, which had not been his intention. The young woman was either evasive or naïve, and either way, he was not sure he should be probing. What business of his was it, to understand the relationship between those two? Except…

Tamalt grinned to himself. Except that the woman sitting opposite him was uncommonly beautiful, and not in a way he had come across before. Not like the women at court in Maren; not like the young Carthaki noble-girls he had dallied with as a young man. Certainly not like the mysterious and veiled Bazhir he had never been allowed to know.

No, there was something much more than fine features and expressive eyes about this one. She was stubborn and fiery. She was very much _alive. _It seemed a funny thing to think, except that Tamalt was not sure he had ever met a girl quite as _alive_ as she was. Perhaps it was the wild magic that coursed through her veins. He had started at the sight of her, of her copper fire, when he had first laid eyes on her, though he had hidden it well.

Perhaps he had not hidden it well enough. Tamalt had not been immune to Numair's response. Numair had given him the irrefutable impression that he had been treading on his former companion's toes. The man was clearly protective about the girl. Possessive, even. But for magical reasons, or sexual ones?

Daine was still staring at him oddly. "Awfully young for what?" she repeated.

Tamalt paused. Perhaps he would not get at this sideways; she had not responded to his unspoken question, except by being confused. Perhaps he needed to ask her straight out.

"Forgive me, Daine. I didn't mean to cast aspersions on you or Numair. People begin relationships at all ages, I…"

"_Relationships?_" Daine choked on the sweetbread she had been chewing on. She cleared her throat and glared at him. The word itself was innocuous, but his meaning now was clear. "If you mean what I think you mean…" She stopped, blushing. People had made snide comments before, deliberately and in her hearing, but no one had mentioned it to her face. And why, now, did the thought of what he was suggesting seem more troubling, more exciting, more _alive_ than at any time before?

Tamalt grinned, but his eyes were sympathetic, and showed apology for the blushes she endured. "I did. But I see I was mistaken."

Daine had been ready to defend Numair's honour, but she stopped herself. Tamalt's face was open, kind. He had only _wondered_ after all; he didn't know them, didn't know their history, didn't know that Numair was her teacher and would never look at her otherwise…

Daine looked down, gritting her teeth. She was irritated with herself; somehow she must have revealed that she felt something more than a student should feel towards her teacher…But that was not _his_ fault, and she shouldn't berate him for it.

Finally her lips quivered for a moment, and then settled into a hesitant smile. "I met Numair when I was thirteen," she began. "I…had left home, alone. A woman, Onua, took me on, since I was a fair hand at horses." She smiled more at the memory, her eyes losing the icy shade of blue they had fleetingly acquired. "I didn't know I had wild magic then, I only thought I had a knack with animals." Daine shrugged. "I met Numair through her. He knew my magic and offered to train me. The King wanted it, too, they thought I might be useful somehow. Perhaps it worked out for the best for more'n me. I've been able to help where I can, these past few years."

"And the two of you now work together?"

Daine shrugged. "I s'ppose we do. He came with me when I was summoned by some…friends of mine." She didn't mention Brokefang's name. Tamalt was kind, but she didn't want to reveal all of herself, all of her past, not straight away. "And since then I suppose…Tortall's had her share of troubles, and it seems Numair and I get embroiled in them."

Tamalt smiled in understanding. "The Gifted- the magicked- " Daine realised he had altered the term to include her, and was touched; "they often do. _We _often do."

"That's true enough, it seems."

"So you are teacher and student still?"

Daine felt her cheeks pinken again. This man was peculiarly insistent about this question; what was it to him? She realised, though, that she appreciated his directness. There was no crudeness in his question, only genuine interest.

"We are," she said, her voice tight. "And more, I suppose. We are friends."

"Well, that's only natural. For people who have worked together for so long."

"Yes." Daine's smile, when she managed it, was a sad one. She didn't think she had ever thought before that her relationship with Numair was missing something. Now, she had this constant feeling of wanting, waiting for, something more. It was a feeling she could not shake.

"Yes," she said again, trying to remind herself that the closeness they shared was simply the result of so much time spent together, practically in each others pockets. "I suppose it is only normal."

Not that it had been like that since Carthak. Since Carthak , things had been…different.

Tamalt looked as if he wanted to say something else, but stopped himself. In any case, they both heard the rumbling of feet on stairs, and moments later their companions joined them for breakfast.

* * *

They were on the road again shortly after breakfast. Maps had been placed over the table and food forgotten. Daine had noticed that she and Tamalt leant back in their seats as the others leaned forward in heated discussion about the route they should take. Both were happy for Alanna, Numair and George to make the decision.

Decision made, Alanna rode hard and fast. A few feet behind her, struggling to keep up astride Cloud, Daine knew the Lioness was disappointed. She had wanted to take the main road through Olau from Port Caynn, a rare chance to see her adoptive father's home. Numair had gently suggested that they avoid the main road to Scanra since discretion was paramount. They had all known he was right, of course, even though the coastal road through Blue Harbour would take them weeks, and far out of their way. It would initially lead them away from Trebond, before they would head east at the harbour through less populated regions below the Grimhold Mountains.

Daine shivered in the morning chill. It was cold, colder than she liked. Autumn had shifted imperceptibly into early winter. The ground beneath them cracked; leaves that had been tinged with red and gold were gone, replaced by lonely withered branches. The animals that dared come this close to the road skulked in the shadows, beginning preparations for hibernation or departure. There was little chattering for Daine to listen in on, little joy.

She was so wrapped up in her observations of their surroundings that she didn't realise Tamalt had ridden up beside her until he spoke. Even then, she missed his words in the wind.

Daine leaned in closer. "I'm sorry?"

"I said- you're cold."

Daine laughed. "I'm a Gallan girl, born and bred. I should be better with the cold than I am, but…" she shrugged. "In Carthak I longed to be out of that close heat, but right now I might welcome it."

Tamalt grinned as he inched his gelding closer to Cloud. "The grass is always greener." Before she could react he had reached behind him to grab his black mage's robe. "Stop," he told her.

Daine nudged Cloud, slowing to a walk and then stop as she looked at him inquisitively. Tamalt reached out and wrapped the cloak around her shoulders. He took time to wrap the vast black silk so that it left space for her arms, but covered the back of her neck carefully. Daine was still under his movements, enjoying the feeling of somebody tucking her in. _This feels…strange_, she thought suddenly. _Nice._ She tried to remember the last time she had been coddled, treated like a baby.

_I don't want to be treated like a baby! _the sensible portion of her mind retorted. No, she didn't. But there was something pleasurable about being indulged, about the way Tamalt took care to wrap the cloth around her body, as if she were soft and gentle and needed protecting. Most men treated her like a comrade, a woman who could look after herself and had no need for small practical gestures such as this.

Daine realised she _didn't _have need for them, but that didn't mean she didn't _want them_.

She swallowed hard as she felt Tamalt's large hand brush her cheek as he pulled a strand of her hair from her face and straightened the cloak one last time. His hand lingered a moment too long and she knew; this was not mere looking after, this was courting.

Filipen had been a boy, when all was said and done; she had liked his eager eyes and quick humour. But Tamalt was a man. The way he looked at her now both excited and terrified her. Was this how it felt to be wanted by a man? She had told herself often enough that no man would _truly_ want her; of course she had their attentions more often than she felt comfortable with. But this was different. Sometimes the men she passed in the Palace looked at her as if they wanted to take something from her, glancing with an undiminished gaze, openly staring, as if they had nothing to hide. Tamalt seemed different. He looked as if he wanted to _give _her something.

Did she want something from him? Daine closed her eyes for a moment, letting her body respond to the feeling of his fingers on her face. There was something there- so why did her mind flit to the figure of Numair riding ahead? Why did she find herself wishing she were wrapped in _his_ immense cloak, that it had been _he_ who had stopped to offer her warmth?

Daine opened her eyes into Tamalt's smiling face, and she blushed. _Well, I'm attracted enough for him to make me feel _something…_Perhaps I will be a woman sooner than I had thought. _

She could not scowl at herself for that wayward thought, so she scowled at him instead. "You could have used your Gift to wrap me in the coat more efficiently than you have just done," she told him.

Tamalt's eyes widened at her response, and then lit up in amused delight. "Ungrateful chit," he teased her. "Where would have been the pleasure in not touching you?"

And before she could respond he had nudged his gelding into a trot, and rode on ahead to join the others.

* * *

Daine was quiet when they stopped for lunch, disappearing by herself and murmuring something about talking to a local marmot family. When they set off again in the afternoon, Alanna rode by her side. The knight herself was in better spirits after spending the morning travelling side-by-side with George, something they could not often do; but she noticed her young friend's quietness immediately.

"Are you still suffering the chill?" Alanna asked. Daine was wrapped inside a large silk cloak and she clutched one end of it to her face, appearing for a moment to sniff the material. The knight raised an eyebrow. "Or is it simply in need of a wash?"

Daine blushed, cheeks pink against the cold pale of her skin. She _had_ been smelling the cloth. She had become so used to the smell of Numair's cloak, of his smell of spices, cardamom and orange. She had not realised she had become attached to it until she had Tamalt's cloth around her body, and could tell the difference so completely. Tamalt's cloak smelt of…earth, she realised finally. With a hint of vanilla. It made sense, she realised. He was more practical, more down to earth. The scent suited him.

"I was just…comparing," Daine muttered to her friend as they rode together.

"Comparing?"

Daine gestured to the cloak wrapped around her. "Their black robes." She stopped as she saw the twinkle of surprise in Alanna's violet eyes. "I was cold," she explained quickly. "Tamalt kindly lent me his."

Alanna hooted softly, and shook her head. "Kindly indeed!"

"Stop it, Alanna," Daine warned, voice low.

"Stop what, youngling? I've barely said a word." The Lioness grinned as Daine rolled her eyes. "Such a cynic for a young girl. What could I possibly have to say about the fact that our new mage is already volunteering you his clothing?"

"Alanna…"

Alanna took both hands from Darknoon's reins in mock surrender. "Alright, alright! I give in. No more."

They rode in silence for a few more moments before Daine bit her lips and turned to the older woman. Today appeared to be a day of questions and wonderings and revelations, after all.

"Alanna?"

"Yes, Daine?"

"Did you…" Daine paused, biting her lips briefly to warm them and struggling with the questions she was about to ask. "Did you love George for a long time before you got together?"

Alanna looked sharply at the girl by her side. What had brought this on? It was not a question about Tamalt, that much she would wager. "I suppose I did," she replied carefully. "Though I probably didn't know it, most of the time. And I fought it."

"Fought it?" Daine sounded surprised.

Alanna shrugged. "I had living to do, and growing. When I first met George I was just a girl." And then she laughed, loud into the cold air, head falling back in pleasure. When she returned her eyes to Daine's they were full of mischief. "Actually, when I first met George I was a _boy_, so our coupling seems even stranger given the unceremonious beginnings."

Daine smiled at the thought. She could not imagine what it must have been to hide herself for so long as the Lioness had done. "But when you knew you loved him…was that it?"

The knight laughed. "If only things were that simple, youngling. No, I still had life to live before I realised I could commit to loving him. And other people to love a little." She looked over at Daine, sensing the surprise in her companion; her eyes were bright. "But don't follow my example, Daine. I'm not like most women." She examined the girl's face in the silence that followed. "Though neither are you, I know," she added.

Daine shrugged her response. "I don't know _what_ I am, Lioness. I don't know what I want."

"Do you miss Filipen?"

The name flicked surprise into Daine's eyes, and the knight was smart enough to catch it. She pondered the question. "I don't think so," she said finally, voice painfully, self-consciously honest. "Is that awful?"

Alanna laughed. "Of course it's not awful. You're a young girl, you're unwed. Why shouldn't you dally with whatever man you please?"

Daine raised an eyebrow. "Would you say that to your daughter?" she asked sceptically. "Or only to a friend?"

"Would your mother have said that to you?"

Daine stopped short at that. She wasn't sure _what_ her mother would have advised her, had she been alive to see Daine grow into a young woman, a woman with breasts and hips and face that drew attention, a woman whose body was calling out for something, for something she didn't know what…

Daine thought her mother would have wanted her to be happy. Would that have included bedding different men like she herself had done? Perhaps not, but it wouldn't have precluded it either.

* * *

It was late when Daine heard the call.

They had eaten quickly but thoroughly, and lit a fire against the cold. The three mages amidst them had made short work of _that._ Their camp had been prepared, bedrolls laid out and latrine dug. She had been about to slip inside her own for warmth and sleep when she heard it.

No, not heard it, _felt_ it. Numair had taught her to distinguish between hearing with her ears and hearing with her magic. There was no way Daine would have heard the baby dear's bleating, but she felt its pain when she reached her magic out like a net.

Even in the small amount of moonlight, she found the animal quickly. _Shh, my babe,_ she crooned, picking up the fawn carefully and holding him against her chest. He was young. He had been separated from his ma. His legs were still skinny, still unpractised. _How had he gotten lost?_ Daine had asked. The babe did not know. He only knew that he was scared.

_Ssh, shh, _Daine murmured. From the looks of his hind legs it appeared the youngling had fallen into a hunter's trap. Daine cursed under her breath, hurrying back to the camp as gently as she could.

She found Numair staring into the fire. Alanna and George were nowhere to be seen; perhaps they had gone off to share a lovers' moment. She seemed to remember that Tamalt had declared he intended to go 'exploring', though none of the others thought there was much interesting to explore around here.

"Numair?" she called softly across the flames. The light flickered, and then he stood.

"Daine." He sounded surprised, but moved around the fire towards her. He stopped short when he saw what she held in her arms.

"It will be harder this time," she told him. "He's young. He knows little of his own body. It might take hours, but…" She trailed off. Perhaps he was not interested enough to spend hours at her side while she tried to help a fawn heal himself. Perhaps it would be a thankless task, and he had not been involved directly in her healing in years…

But Numair's dark eyes lit up with pleasure and surprise. "Come, let us find somewhere where we won't disturb the others, or be disturbed by them, when they returned." His large hand came down on her shoulder, and he led her away from the fire. His Gift sprung forward, lighting the way before them as they passed under the trees and to a clearing behind the camp.

Daine settled herself carefully on the ground, trying to maintain her hold on the fawn, keeping him close to her chest so he could feel her heartbeat as he would have felt his ma's. It would comfort him, at least a little, she knew.

Numair crouched by her side. "What's wrong?"

"Hind legs, both. A hunter's trap I would imagine. No breaks but a lot of bruising…" Her fingers ran gently, rapidly over the animal's soft and patchy fur, feeling for further damage. When she stopped, she looked up at Numair, watching his dark eyes come alive with anticipation, and smiled.

"Would you like…" She paused, feeling awkward. "I don't think I can explain it as I'm doing it, it's so new, so different…We can discuss it all tomorrow, but tonight would you like to…" With one hand she touched fingers to her temples.

Numair's expression revealed his confusion. "Would I like to what, magelet?"

Daine swallowed. "Watch," she explained awkwardly. "From the inside. Like you did that first time, in the clearing, with the undine…" She broke off. Was this too much?

Numair's heart beat fast in his chest. "You mean, see from inside your mind?"

"Yes, I think so. Yes." She looked down at her patient rather than up at him. "If you would like to."

Numair's eyes widened. "Of course," he said, voice soft as he dropped down into position behind her. Hesitating briefly, he sat behind her, long legs bent either side of his hips. "Here," he told her, touching her shoulder briefly. "Sit back. You're tired, you can…lean on me." He was glad he was behind her so that she wouldn't see the blush in his dark cheeks, highlighted by the magic of his Gift.

Daine paused for a moment, feeling butterflies in her stomach as she edged backwards. She was aware of every place that they touched, or _almost_ touched: Her back against his chest, her shoulders tucked in between his broad arms, his breath now, hot on the back of her neck. Perversely, the heat made her shiver.

She blinked, hard, trying to return her attentions to the small animal in her lap. He was not badly hurt, but he needed help, and he trusted her. She needed to focus on _him_ now. Numair, and her reaction to him, would have to wait until later.

Daine swallowed hard and had to remind herself of her intent again when she felt his fingers reach round and press gently against her temples. He braced his thumbs on the nape of her neck, and she warmed under his touch.

Then she looked inside of herself, and knew that he was with her.

_Do you see? _she thought hard at him. She could _sense_ him, but not hear him. _Let me show you._

The pearly shimmer of his Gift surrounded her, filling the spaces left by her copper fire, encircling her like his body was holding hers. Daine almost forgot to breathe, it felt so intimate. She wondered if she had ever felt so close to anyone.

_Concentrate, concentrate_, she urged herself. Slowly, she opened her mind to the fawn as she had to Maisie. Through the next hours she would guide the baby deer to use his own opulent copper fire to heal the bruising in his legs, and the nausea in his little stomach.

Her mind would be the key and the guide, she would shape him and move him, but the magic would be his _own._ And Numair would be the all-seeing eyes, both inside her and outside her. With her. Always.

Daine wondered how long she would be able to keep him inside her.

* * *

It was finished.

Numair's breath caught in his throat as he left her mind. Outside of her, he felt suddenly alone, suddenly empty, suddenly very far away. The fingers that had pressed against her temples shook, and he let them fall, dropping to her waist where he held her, pulling her back and flush against his chest, wanting to feel close to her again.

Back in his own mind, Numair longed to be with her again.

He could feel his heartbeat, fast against the weight of her back. She was asleep. The healing had taken it out of her, for all her own copper fire had been spared. How long had it been? he wondered. Hours, probably.

Daine mumbled something in exhaustion and snuggled back into his arms. Numair froze, feeling the warmth of her body against his, her legs collapsed in sleep and lying alongside his. Her head lolled back into the crook of his arm, exposing the white skin of her throat.

_Goddess, only to kiss her there, to reach down, press my lips against her pulse and…_

No. He shut his eyes. No.

Had he ever held her so close? Had he ever held _anyone_ and have it feel as close as this? He prayed to Mithros that she was too far gone to feel the proof of his desire; she was so close, curled inside his body.

He wanted desperately to keep her here. He knew he should move; the rational part of his mind implored him to stand, wake her, and return to the camp where he could do no more harm, where he could run from the risk that he might at any moment reach and touch her, kiss her, hold her even closer…

But the rest of him screamed.

_No. Stay. Hold Her._

_Never let her go._

And so he obeyed.

* * *

**Go on, my lovelies, I implore you! Press that little 'Go' and tell me what you think, inspire me...**


	9. Reproach

**Chapter 9: Reproach**

When Tamalt returned to the camp around the midnight hour, only embers remained where earlier the flames had roared. He heard rustling, and then purple fire shone out into the darkness. When his vision cleared he realised that Alanna had used her Gift to light the clearing, and he saw her face, and George's, peering up at him from their recumbent positions.

"My apologies," Tamalt whispered. "I didn't mean to wake you."

Alanna rubbed her eyes. "Don't worry. Are Daine and Numair with you?"

Tamalt's eyes narrowed imperceptibly as his gaze flickered over to their empty bedrolls. "No, they aren't." He paused for a moment, his head cocked as if he were listening for something. "But Numair isn't far away."

George bit back a yawn and fixed sharp eyes on the mage. "Are ye telling me you can sense him? Does he know you can?"

Tamalt smiled thinly. "Numair, like any black-robe mage, is hard-pressed to disclose his Gift. I can sense its presence at short distances." He shrugged. "I imagine he could with mine if he chose to."

George raised expressive eyebrows. "What's he playing with his Gift for? It's a little late for spells, is it not?"

Alanna snorted and lay back down, pulling George's arm with her. "It's never too late for magic with _Numair_. I imagine they must be fine or he would have called me. Goodnight, Tamalt."

George shrugged at the mage, his eyes dancing as if to say: 'I do what the lady orders'; then he lay back down in his bedroll, arm slung casually over his wife's belly as he pulled her close.

Tamalt smiled at the couple, and bid them goodnight. His own bedroll looked inviting, but for some reason he felt compelled to find the absent mage and his student before submitting to sleep.

It was not hard to follow their path. Numair's Gift hung in the air like an echo of former power; Tamalt would wager that he had been using it recently, though now it shimmered, unused and settling in the night air. He remembered the feeling of Numair's magic with its black and pearl luminescence from boyhood; never since had he known a man with as much power as he himself held.

As he emerged from under the trees and into the smaller, secondary clearing, he paused. There were the figures, lit now only by the moonlight.

The moonlight was enough.

Its rays illuminated the young woman, relaxed in slumber as she leant back inside the arms that held her, head rolled back to expose a delicate throat, hair a wild contrast as it flung in thick curls to one side. Long lashes covered closed eyes and rested on pink cheeks, and her soft lips parted in the motion of sleep's easy, settled breathing.

_She is so beautiful,_ he thought, not for the first time.

And she was held by Numair.

Tamalt's breath caught in his chest. He wondered if he had ever seen the mage look so peaceful. Since their reunion he had seemed forever on edge, always guarded. That made sense, of course; Tamalt knew that Tortall was undergoing hard times, and Numair was constantly relied upon. He had expected a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders. Except…

Except here they sat, and Numair looked so completely at ease. More than at ease, Tamalt realised with a start; at _peace. _

Tamalt let his eyes unfold the scene. His gaze moved over the young woman to the man who held her, flush against his chest. Daine was asleep but Numair, he saw, was not. His dark eyes were open and gazed down at the face so close to his own; Tamalt started at the tenderness he saw. He noticed the mage's legs against her own, and he could not fail to notice the broad hands that lay at her waist, covering her stomach, thumbs moving in a gentle, almost imperceptible caress.

A lover's caress.

Tamalt did not have to voice his arrival; his further step rustled twigs beneath his feet, and Numair's head turned swiftly to find his own in the darkness.

"Tamalt!" Was that panic in the man's dark eyes? Tamalt wondered. If so he had them quickly under control. "What are you doing here?"

Tamalt fought to control his surprise at the picture in front of him, and forced a smile. "Alanna wondered where the two of you were." It was not strictly true, but it would suffice.

"Ah, I see." Numair's flush was highlighted by the moonlight. He glanced quickly down at the figure in his arms, as if he only just realised the implications of their position, and then back to the mage. Tamalt almost felt sorry for the stricken expression in his eyes.

"We…" Numair broke off. Suddenly his tongue felt heavy in his throat. Explanations would not fall from his lips. Tamalt was looking at him questioningly and he didn't know what to say. Daine was in his arms, and he didn't know how to explain it.

"I see." Tamalt let Numair see his eyes move casually over them both, lingering on Daine's head tucked under his shoulder, and at his hands splayed over her waist.

Suddenly Numair was even more aware of every place his body touched hers, of the way his fingers had explored her stomach, of his legs tucked around and supporting hers, of the feel of her heavy hair which was flung back and tickled his neck.

He was embarrassed to admit to himself that he had been aroused; now, under Tamalt's curious and undiminished stare, he only felt perverse.

Numair gritted his teeth before meeting the mage's questioning eyes with his own unflinching gaze. "She was healing," he explained, voice halting. "It's a new experiment, I wanted to observe her and…" Numair's voice faltered, and then stopped. He swallowed hard. How could he explain why Daine lingered in his arms asleep?

Tamalt's gaze flickered to the fawn which lay at their feet. It too was sleeping. _What a lovely little family they make_, he thought with a wry smile. And then he returned his eyes to his one-time companion and competitor, the only man who held a magic that equalled his.

And now the only man who held a woman he was interested in.

This thought came to Tamalt so suddenly that it both surprised and sobered him. "You don't have to explain yourself to me," he said softly.

Numair grimaced. "I know this must look… conspicuous," he finished tightly.

Tamalt was silent for a few moments. When he finally spoke his voice was soft, calm. "She looks less fiery when she's asleep, doesn't she?"

Numair's chest hurt. He didn't have to look down at the girl in his arms to know the answer. "Yes," he said gently. "She does."

"And younger. How old is she?"

Numair stiffened, his hands tightening instinctively around Daine's stomach as if he sought to protect her from the insinuations of a question which was not voiced, but lingered in the air between the three of them.

"Fifteen," he answered, voice heavy with a regret he could not disguise. "Almost sixteen." Numair winced. His amendment hardly improved things, and the truth sounded even worse aloud than it had inside his head the many times he had returned to it over and over in the last week as a warning, a reminder.

Tamalt cocked his head. "Half your age," he said simply, as if he were talking about something different altogether. And then he straightened, and something shifted behind his eyes. "And almost half mine," he added with a wry smile.

For one of only few times in his life, Numair did not know what to say, so he said nothing.

Tamalt laughed softly and then continued. "Do you remember that beauty in Carthak, fifteen years ago? The young noble woman Ozorne had eyes on. But she only had eyes for you…" He ignored Numair's confused expression. "She was young, but she was still older than this one." He gestured to Daine with one hand, but his eyes remained fixed on Numair's own. "I would like to say your tastes have…_matured_, but I see they have not."

Numair gritted his teeth. Anger flickered behind his eyes, but he could hardly argue back, given the incriminating evidence. He only thanked the Gods that Daine had been so exhausted by the healing that she remained asleep, ignorant of the words spoken so close above her slumbering form.

"There is nothing going on here, Tamalt. I know how it looks, but…she merely fell asleep. We were trying something new with her magic and it exhausted her."

Tamalt let his eyes linger again on Daine's stomach and Numair's large hands. "Your teaching methods are indeed unique."

Numair started at the amusement in the mage's voice. The man didn't sound crude exactly, or defamatory, but rather peculiarly amused. His eyes narrowed. "There is nothing going on, Tamalt. Daine is my student."

The man shrugged. "I know that. Daine told me as much this morning. She seemed as horrified by the suggestion of anything else between you as you do now."

Numair was not prepared for the sudden pain in his chest at those words. He should have been relieved, of course, that Tamalt had already been dissuaded of anything untoward; but he could not muster the relief. There was a bitter taste in his mouth.

Numair looked down. It _was_ a merciful relief that Daine had remained asleep, but it was time to wake her now. What, in heaven and earth, had he been thinking? He tried to push Tamalt's presence from his mind as he gently removed his hands from Daine's stomach and eased himself backwards.

His body lamented the removal of her touch. Numair flushed at the memory of his arousal, pressed against her back. The mage was thankful, now, for the dark. He wanted so badly to hold her again. The interruption felt like both a saving grace and a tragedy. But who was he more angry with, Tamalt, or himself?

"Daine?" The only part of him that touched her now was the single hand braced on her back to hold her upright, as he leant forward to speak gently close to her ear. "Daine, magelet…It's time to wake up."

"Hmmm…." Daine mumbled incoherently, and moved as if to slip backwards again into his arms. Numair flinched, aware again of Tamalt's ever-present stare. "No, Daine, don't…" He held up his other hand quickly to hold her away from him. "Come on, Daine, let's get you back to camp."

Daine was still for a moment, and then flinched, sitting up quickly. Her hands went to her face, rubbing tiredly at her eyes. As soon as she supported herself, Numair extracted himself from his position behind her and eased to his feet. Clearing his throat, he reached a hand down to her to help her stand.

"Numair?" Daine looked up at him with weary eyes as she gently clasped his outstretched hand, letting him pull her to her feet. "What happened?"

Numair managed a tight smile. "You fell asleep," he told her gently. "I think healing the fawn took it out to you, but obviously it was a success." He gestured to the baby deer lying at Daine's feet, and finally managed a smile which reached his eyes. When all else was said and done, he had witnessed something incredible tonight. In the morning, in the clearer light of day it would be wonderful to turn his mind to examining this development in her magical awareness.

Daine sighed and shook her arms and legs gently to ease the stiffness. How long had they been here in the clearing? she wondered. Then she lent down, pulling the sleeping fawn close to her chest again.

"He's still lost his ma," she explained. "I think he should sleep with me tonight."

_Lucky fawn,_ thought Numair with a grim smile.

How was he to explain Tamalt's presence? Would Daine be embarrassed? But no, he had removed himself from her before she awoke. Perhaps she didn't even realise how close she had been to him, her small body tucked inside his larger frame.

Numair gripped his student's elbow and turned back towards the trees.

When faced with the lingering question in the other mage's eyes, what would she say? Numair caught his breath in anticipation.

But the clearing was empty. Tamalt had already disappeared.

* * *

Morning came too quickly.

Alanna opened one eye to the light and glared at her husband. "How is it that you always end up on _my_ side of the bed?"

George grinned, tucking his head further underneath her hair so that his breath tickled her neck. "We're not in a bed, lass. We're in a bedroll."

Alanna snorted as she tried to lift the dead weight of George's arm from her stomach, and roll over. "Then you've got even less excuse."

George nipped at her ear with surprising energy for first thing in the morning. "Don't complain, woman, I just like being close to you."

George didn't move from his comfortable position sprawled half on top of her, and Alanna didn't expect him to. As they both knew, she had only been teasing. Besides, mornings had never been her forte, but her husband now accepted the barbs she flung at him with practised and familiar ease.

They lay together for several moments in comfortable silence. Eventually Alanna poked him with her elbow. "Time to get up," she muttered with a rueful sigh. Peering up over the embers she saw that Numair's roll was already empty, and much of their camp had been cleared and packed away in preparation for the day's continuing journey.

George eased up inside the roll they were both squeezed into, resting back on his elbows as he surveyed what was left of the camp. "Looks like someone's been busy this morning," he commented, eying Numair's back. The mage moved purposefully around the clearing, disposing of any rubbish and trying to minimise the effects of their presence.

"And it looks like someone else hasn't."

George followed his wife's gaze, and the amused tone of her voice, to see Daine, still snuggled up in her bedroll fast asleep. He squinted. "Is that what I think it is?"

Alanna grinned, examining the two skinny, furry front legs and head that poked out of the top of the material, under Daine's chin. "She's collecting friends. If we're not careful we'll have a little army of wild beats following us into Trebond…"

George nudged his wife, then cocked his head. "Looks like the little beastie's not the only thing she's collected."

Alanna looked at her husband questioningly, then followed his gaze to a figure standing on the other side of the fire.

And there stood Tamalt, only a few feet from Daine's slumbering form, staring down at her with something akin to tenderness in his warm, hazel eyes. As if he were frozen in the moment of observing her, the mage did not move.

Alanna raised eyebrows over sharp, violet eyes. "What does he think he's doing?" she asked tartly.

George laughed, beginning to extricate himself from their shared bedroll. "What do you think he's doing, lass? Apart from wishing he could swap places with that baby deer…"

* * *

They rode long and hard that morning. According to Numair's early calculations, they were only a day's ride from Swannon Cove, which marked the half way between Port Caynn and Blue Harbour. From there it would be a few days to the coast, then they would deviate east through lesser roads towards Trebond.

None of them knew exactly what would await them when they reached Alanna's former home; George's findings from his spies had been few and far between, revealing only the mutterings of discontent in southern Scanra, and the troubling suggestion of an allegiance between scanran nobles on the border, and certain Immortal groups.

What could they be expected to do if rebellion _was_ afoot? Daine wondered. Apparently the King was confident that the combination of the four of them would be able to do _something,_ while the fortuitous occasion of the magical Sanctuary in Corus went some way to assuring safety for the Palace in case of any localised attack. _Not fortuitous exactly,_ Daine reminded herself; (it was a word Numair had taught her, and one she liked.) The King, she knew, was too clever for fortuity. Rather she was sure he had engineered everything as best he could to fit his plans.

It was indeed a clever bluff to remove some of his most powerful magical weapons just as all attention was on the King's new venture and no-one would believe them to be absent. It would require some crafty explanations in the Palace itself, Daine thought with a wry smile. She wondered briefly if Numair had created magical simulacr-thingies for them all to fool any suspicious minds at home.

* * *

Daine looked down at her feet and realised that her toes fair _itched_ to be in the sea.

Her muscles were weary after a day's ride. A day's _hard_ ride, though they had reached the cove still several hours before nightfall, and ahead of schedule. Still, just as she knew salt water strengthened her tired magic, something about the salt air and the expanse of sky and sea before her revived the rest of her.

Even with her attention fixed happily on the immense blue, Daine was not quite surprised when she _felt_ Numair's presence behind her before he came to stand by her side. He didn't appear for several moments and at first she thought she had been mistaken, though the shiver at the base of her spine fairly _spoke_ his name; her peculiar bodily responses had been something of a regular occurrence in the last week.

Fleetingly, Daine wondered if he had been watching her as she sometimes watched him, then pushed the thought away as being too absurd to contemplate.

When she heard soft footsteps in the sand beside her, she looked up into his dark face and smiled. "Hello, Numair."

The mage looked down at her, dark eyes unreadable with the sun's light behind him, though she could hear the smile in his voice.

"Daine."

"Isn't it beautiful?"

Numair watched her face with its unadulterated pleasure, blue-grey eyes alight, soft mouth open in an image of perfect adoration. He could feel a pleasurable tightness in his chest and realised at that moment how much joy the simple observation of _her_ pleasure could give him. It was strangely humbling.

"Yes," he said softly. "Very beautiful."

Daine turned to him again, reaching one hand up to hold back hair that the wind thrust impudently forward, and smiling impishly at him. "I don't sense any mammoth sea lions in the vicinity, so don't fear for my safety tonight."

Numair swallowed the lump in his throat. He had to admit to himself, though certainly not to her, that standing as she was, legs braced wide, one hand cupping the back of her head in a movement which unknowingly thrust her breasts forward, _his_ mind had not at that moment been on her safety.

He cleared his throat and turned back to the horizon, trying to dismiss the image of her in profile, goddess-like, from his mind.

"Of course," he murmured, finally casting his mind back to that time, only a few years before, when he had first been so scared for her. _Goddess, but I barely knew her then…_And she had been just a girl, a scared girl with a bruised heart and plenty of fear. Was this really the same Daine standing at his side now? A young woman.

_A woman, yes. But not my woman._

Numair closed his eyes. Even the ocean before him was too tantalising. Could he see nothing without thinking of her?

"Well," he told her finally. "As long as you don't insist on stopping your heart again in order to listen to the whale song, I shall attempt not to fear for your safety."

Daine only smiled.

* * *

The caves were no longer in sight when Daine heard her name called out behind her. She stopped her brisk walk along the shore and turned to watch Tamalt hurry towards her.

She smiled up at him as he approached, taking in his chestnut curls now even more dishevelled than they had been, appreciating the breadth of his frame as she watched him walk towards her. _Tamalt is indeed a handsome man,_ she thought to herself, not for the first time.

"You walk quickly," he told her, eyes twinkling, and panting slightly from the exertion as he reached her side. "Do you have somewhere to be?"

Daine laughed. "No, just stretching my legs after the ride. Why, Master Nanderin, are you telling me you're not up to the pace?"

He threw her a mock glare. "I though we were on first-name terms, Mistress Sarrasri, or was I mistaken?"

Daine laughed. Something about being here, about this momentary release from weeks of tension made her feel peculiarly lighthearted; light_headed_ almost, as if she were outside herself looking in. She decided to revel in the moment rather than analyse it, and picked up her pace, turning to walk backwards along the sand and flinging her hands up high as she grinned at the mage.

"That depends," she told him mischievously.

"On what?" He stalked towards her.

Daine paused for a moment. Was that heat in his eyes? She took a step back. "On whether you can keep up with me," she told him lightly, before turning swiftly and hurtling down the sand as quickly as she could.

"You _terror_," she heard him call from far behind, but for a man apparently tired by walking, he reached her suspiciously quickly, and in the next moment his voice was no longer following behind in the wind, but so close that his breath grazed her neck. Without another word he had scooped her up in his arms.

"Uh-oh," Daine said, squinting up at him.

Tamalt looked down at her. "Uh-oh indeed," he replied, voice dry. "Regarding your demand that I keep up with you…does this suffice, madam?"

Something possessed her to stick her tongue out at him. Something else in the back of her mind told her that, considering her compromising position, huddled in his arms so close she could feel his heartbeat, the move was a provocative one.

Tamalt laughed softly and she could feel the movement through his body. "Well if that won't garner a response from you I suppose I shall have to resort to other measures."

He began walking down the sand, holding her apparently effortlessly in his arms. Daine quite enjoyed the unusual feeling of being carried, though she looked dubiously down at the ground as his steps took them both closer to the water's edge. "Tamalt…."

"First-name terms! I thank you. But it's too late for recompense now, my dear." There was a shimmer of emerald magic and Daine watched, wide-eyed and mouth gaping, as the boots Tamalt had been wearing disappeared from his feet and reappeared some distance away further up the sand.

"Surely that's cheating," she muttered, suddenly feeling a bit queasy. She squinted up at him again. "And surely you black-robes use your Gift for loftier purposes than _that…_"

Tamalt grinned as his breeches helpfully rolled themselves up above his knees under the power of his Gift, and then strolled forward towards the water's edge. "I confess," he told her softly, leaning down so that his face was close to hers. "Sometimes we black-robes use our magic for the loftiest purpose of all."

Daine kept her eyes glued to the approaching water Tamalt inched forward. "And what purpose is that?"

"Why, impressing pretty girls of course."

Daine snorted, and was about to retort that she'd never seen _Numair_ do a thing like that, before something made her stop, and she closed her mouth quickly. Or did he? she wondered, suddenly feeling cold. Between the two of them his magic had predominantly been practical, a tool to be used, a learning to explore. But perhaps with his ladies of the court he used his Gift to flirt, tease and impress. Just because he would never do that with _her, _didn't mean he didn't with others.

Like that woman she had accidentally discovered him with in his rooms.

Daine bit down on her tongue so hard she could taste blood, then grimaced, swallowing the salty taste and trying to push that image far, _far_ back in her mind. Here she was in another man's arms and her mind brought her back to _him_ again!

Tamalt was looking down at her, so Daine gave him a somewhat hesitant smile, returning her attention to his actions. And then she realised that _they_ weren't any more pleasant. Her eyes widened as she looked down again to see shimmering blue below her. Tamalt was standing in the water.

"Tamalt," she said somewhat weakly. "You're in the sea."

He grinned. "I am indeed. I find it very refreshing."

Daine found that she could still shudder in his embrace. "You mean freezing. It's almost winter…"

He snorted. "It's weeks from winter. Besides, I thought you were a Gallan girl, born and bred. You should be made of hardier stuff."

Daine contemplated wriggling free and running back to camp; at running she might beat him, she wagered, if he didn't play any magical tricks on her. But his arms, without being possessive, were strong, and his grip was firm.

"I'm made of perfectly hardy stuff," she retorted tartly.

"Good," Tamalt told her, voice full of a _wicked_ quality that was new to her. "Then I take it you'd be more than happy to go for a little swim?"

_That_ got her attention. She attempted wriggling free one more time, and quickly gave up. _Uh-oh indeed…_ "Tamalt," she tried, "it's so cold…"

"Nonsense," he scoffed, and then threw her up and out of his arms before she could say another word.

Daine flew through the air and landed in the water with a smack. She winced as the cold hit her like a sharp force, extending like a sting over her whole body. When she surfaced, finding her feet easily in the shallows, she was caught between sputtering water and attempting to scowl at him.

Tamalt only laughed, and then smiled sweetly at her. "Nice dip?" he asked, advancing towards her.

Daine tried hard not to grin. Goddess, it had been cold, but it had been _fun. _"Very nice, thank you." But he kept coming. She held up a hand. "Tamalt…"

He was closer. "Perhaps you'd like a hand with your swimming…."

But before he could touch her, Daine played her own hand. He might be a man, stronger than her, and a mage to boot, but he didn't have what _she _had.

Tamalt watched, enthralled, as Daine's body disappeared and her clothes sunk into the water beneath a sparrow that flicked and fluttered above his head.

The sparrow-that-was-Daine chirped angrily at him, before flying over to land on his head where she dug tiny feet into his skull. He only laughed, reaching up as if to touch her, but she had already gone, as he knew she would be. He watched as she flew towards a tree on the beach and disappeared behind it.

She was still behind the tree when he reached the sand and came looking for her.

"Daine?"

"Stay there, Tamalt." She poked her head round the tree, brown curls now sodden and dripping, and glared at him. "Pray tell me, when you head about my shape-shifting abilities, did you also hear about the unfortunate side-effect?"

Tamalt paused, squinting at her and wondering why she was still hiding behind that blasted tree instead of attempting to wriggle free from his arms once again. _That,_ he had enjoyed… "Uh…..no," he told her finally.

Daine sighed. "The Badger and his joke," she muttered, much to Tamalt's confusion, before she waved one now-unclothed arm at him. He looked at her, still puzzled.

"When I shift back, I'm always…naked," she told him, glad that there was a tree between them so he wouldn't see her blush.

"Ohhhh," came the reply, and then a smothered laugh.

"Don't laugh," she scolded. "Can you find my garbs? From wherever you dropped me."

She watched Tamalt gamely head back into the freezing waves and rummage around. But when he walked up to the shore again minutes later, he was empty-handed.

"I'm sorry, Daine," he told her, voice genuinely apologetic, she could tell. "They're not there, I expect the undertow already dragged them out…"

There was silence for a moment as Daine bit her lip, wondering whether she should just fly back to camp and accept her things as lost, before she heard the sound of rustling. Then suddenly a large white shirt laced with emerald Gift travelled round from the other side of the tree and dropped into her hand.

Daine smiled wryly. "My, aren't your clothes lively today?" she told him by way of thanks, slipping the material on her head and looking down at herself. She grimaced. It was not exactly decent, but thankfully Tamalt was nearly as tall as Numair so the cloth fell only a few inches above her knees.

"I hope you freeze as punishment," she told him with a scowl as she emerged from behind the tree, trying not to let him see her examining his now-naked chest.

Tamalt laughed as they both turned and began walking back to the camp. "I deserve your reproach," he admitted. "My apologies for your lost clothing."

"That's alright," she told him with an overly-laboured sigh. "Since you enjoy magicking clothes so much, you can just Gift me some of yours."

* * *

It was beginning to get dark.

Numair sighed, put away his journal and quill, and eased the cramp in his hand. _Where were they? _So much for writing accurate and intelligent thoughts when he couldn't stop his mind from wandering. Wandering and wondering…

Beside him, Alanna's violet eyes flashed as she gazed at something behind him. Numair looked over as she raised one delicate eyebrow, but remained silent.

"What is it?" he asked her.

Alanna was silent for a moment, gaze intent; she looked at that moment, Numair decided, as if she were trying to decipher a particularly difficult mathematical puzzle.

She did not answer, so with a sigh the mage shifted, swinging his legs round on the sand so that he could see. Then he wished that he hadn't.

Numair's breath caught in his chest as he watched the two approaching figures. In the sudden silence he heard the sound of laughter ring out, first a honeyed mezzo and then a baritone's response. In the distance he saw their heads turn together, sharing something he could not hear.

As they came closer, Numair felt a wrench in his gut. The sound of his breath, which he had been holding without realising, came as a sudden hiss against his clenched teeth.

Beside him, Alanna, too, watched the approaching pair with interest.

"It is me," she asked, voice soft, "or is Daine wearing Tamalt's shirt?"

Numair blinked, hard, but the image did not clear. "It's not you," he managed to say, wondering if she would hear the awful struggle in his voice.

"Oh."

Alanna shook her head and got to her feet with a quiet groan, easing her weary muscles. "I'm going to help George with dinner," she told him, walking over to the flats where her husband was gutting fish for their meal.

Numair did not move, did not reply. He was still sat in rigid silence when they reached the camp, their conversation halting as they saw him.

Seeing the look on Numair's face, Tamalt cleared his throat and gave Daine a quick smile. "I'm going to find myself another shirt," he announced to them both. Then, turning to Daine he reached out and tucked a strand of soaking-wet hair behind her ear. "I'll see if I can witch you some breeches," he told her in a voice that was slightly husky, _intimate._

Daine looked down, blushing. She was still blushing moments later when Tamalt had gone, and Numair was staring at her intently. She found, somehow, that she was almost afraid to raise her head and look at him._ I don't understand!_ something inside her wailed. She already knew the hurt that she would find on his face when she lifted her eyes to his. _But Goddess, why? _

Numair could not rip his eyes from her body. He tried to calm his breathing as he looked at her, naked but for a single shirt, _his_ shirt…

The material clung to her damp skin, highlighting the arch of her waist, the curve of her breasts, even, Gods help him, the darkness of her nipples beneath the white cloth.

Numair took in one shuddering breath. She looked as if she had just come from her lover's bed, all rumpled and damp…

He had not thought. He had not realised…Stupidly, all this time he had spent worrying about Filipen and this had happened right under his nose. Even his old companion's cryptic words the night before…Numair had been so afraid for his _own_ propriety, had been so sure that he had seen reproach in Tamalt's eyes, that he had not thought for a moment that _he_ might harbour interest for Daine.

_My Daine._

And that she might return his feelings?

Numair staggered to his feet; he couldn't look at her any more. His chest was tight. Inside, something was crying.

How would he cope with watching this again, this new part of Daine, her burgeoning sexuality? How could he stand by and watch it be _Tamalt? _

At that moment he wanted only to escape.

"Numair?" she said softly, her voice full of questions, full of…what was it? he wondered absently, keeping her at bay. _Yearning? _No, it couldn't be.

He stared at his feet, willing his voice to come. Finally he felt his throat release enough to tell her three simple words before he turned, walking swiftly towards the caves and away from her.

"Don't get cold."

And then he was gone.

**A/N: Oooh, things are starting to hot up...lots of silly clothes magic on this chapter, but all to a purpose;-) Who doesn't love an awkward love triangle?**

**Please be kind and press the little GO button down there to tell me what you think. Pretty please!**


	10. Reveries: An Interlude

A/N: This little beastie emerged and I felt it needed to stand alone as an interlude between the big chapters either side. It's a little of the internal workings of their minds during the travel from the Palace to Trebond.

**Chapter 10: Reveries: An interlude **

The next four days would have seemed, to outside eyes, to pass in very similar a manner to the previous two: the five assorted travellers rode, ate, camped and slept, seemingly assuming the familiar and jovial relationships between them.

Except, Daine knew that something was wrong.

Perhaps it was the way he looked at her; or rather, _didn't_ look at her. Of course, Numair always looked down when in the saddle, as if he expected his faithful Spots to either disappear or rear up from between his thighs at any moment; so perhaps he wasn't _really_ avoiding her, when she rode next to him and looked up into his dark, shadowed face and he would not meet her gaze.

But she could _feel_ the peculiar distance of him, as if a string pulled taut between them had somehow become rigid and drove them apart rather than drawing them together.

Daine was used to feeling connected to him; they had travelled so often together, worked so long at each other's sides, that even in companionable silence she was aware of him beside her, almost as if they had their own inexorable connection that required neither speech nor touch.

Except, right now she couldn't feel it.

It was if she had somehow cut the thread. Or he had.

* * *

Tamalt knew in his heart of hearts that there was discord between teacher and student.

Examining it, and them, he wondered _how_ he knew. He had not been privy to their relationship before this last week, so he could he know how they usually behaved? There were no dramas, no theatrical outcries, no tears; no sparks flew, at least in public. But the loss, the _absence_ of something he couldn't grasp, surrounded them both like a bleak fog.

He observed at a distance, seeing Daine occasionally draw Numair into conversation, which was always civil. They rarely spoke for longer than was absolutely necessary, though Tamalt noticed that Daine usually managed to draw him out on the subject of her magic. A few times they discussed her healing of the fawn, and a previous creature they called 'Maisie', and it was only then that Numair came alive, his light baritone lifting in these moments of intellectual curiosity.

It was only then that Numair engaged with his student in a way to belie the possibility of disharmony between them.

Tamalt was not surprised. It seemed to him that magic, for Numair, always sat on the edge of his horizon, an ever-present sanctuary he could withdraw to even when the world threatened to collapse around him, which Tamalt imagined it had on occasion, as it did to all powerful mages.

And so, when Tamalt observed Numair and his student during their few academic discussions in those four days, he did not fail to notice that the man did not meet her eyes, but kept his own gaze fixed firmly on that magical horizon. His sanctuary. His _home._

Tamalt himself was happy to command Daine's attention, which he did more and more easily as Daine accepted the unsteady silence between Numair and herself. They often rode together on those four days, and he amused her with stories of the Maren court, which was decidedly more formal and less peculiar than her Tortallan home; and with tales of his youth, which had been a flurry of magical experiments and explosions.

If these stories made her think of Numair, both knew better than to mention it.

* * *

For Numair, the four days passed immeasurably slowly.

He was not used to being with her and yet _not_ being with her. Had she withdrawn from him?

In all honesty, he knew that he held her at bay. Until he could exorcise the image of her from his mind, barefoot and beautiful on the beach, naked but for another man's shirt, Numair was not sure he could smile and make small-talk as she perhaps wished that he would.

And in even more _brutal_ honesty, Numair was not sure he _wanted_ to lose that image of her, which played out on his eyelids when they were closed, and in his dreams.

In his dreams, she ran before him on the beach wearing _his _shirt.

In his dreams, the musical laugh sprang between them on the sand, and he chased after her retreating form.

Sometimes, in his dreams, he caught up to her, until they were locked in a tight and salty embrace. When he woke it was as if he could still _taste_ her on his lips.

Sometimes, the more he ran, the further away she seemed to be, until she was no longer on his shore but on the other side of the straits.

Then he called her name, but she could not hear him.

* * *


	11. Ravages

A/N: Well, I hope you like long, 'cause I'm giving you long! I did warn that things would be hotting up this chapter, and I did not lie;-)

Thanks so much for all my reviews, and also to **l'ange, Sylvanius** and **Hannah** for your lovely messages and encouragement.

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* * *

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Chapter 11: Ravages

As expected, six days after their departure from the Palace, the five travellers arrived at Blue Harbour. They stayed the night in an inn on the coast, and Daine kept her window open to the shore, glad to have a soft mattress beneath her tired muscles, but missing the tenable connection to the animals, and her magic, that sleeping outside offered her.

In the room next to her, Numair knew what his student would be doing. He imagined her, flung on the end of her bed but leaning out of her window to converse with a local heron family, or a passing sea turtle.

The image made him smile before it made him frown.

_I miss her._

Numair grit his teeth and realised he had to swallow more than the lump in his throat; he had to swallow his pride, swallow the uneasiness of his anger towards Tamalt, the man who did what he could not. More than that, he had to try and forget his dreams, forget the forbidden fantasies he had been allowing himself to succumb to in these last days, though only in the shadows of night when all he could hear were the ragged sounds of his own breath.

_Tonight. Tonight is the last night._

Even as he fixed the words in his mind, Numair realised their falsity. He had given in, given in to the awful, wonderful thrill of fantasising about the young woman he should most decidedly _not_ been fantasising about. Now he had conjured Daine in his mind, how could he ever let her go?

Numair undressed with hands that shook, and lay back against the mattress. He allowed his eyes to close and then, when dark flooded in and she appeared as if bidden, he did not hold her at bay.

Numair felt his breath come fast and high in his chest as he saw her in his mind's eye. In his _mind,_ she was beneath him, and his hand reached out to grasp her hair between wanting fingers. In his mind, she arched her back in pleasure, as her legs wrapped tightly around his own.

In his mind, he was not afraid to touch her.

She came to him. They came together.

_Tonight…Tonight…_

_Tonight is the last night._

But he knew he would not let her go.

* * *

They travelled east from Blue Harbour, on the uncommon roads that led to Trebond.

After five days of riding, the Grimhold mountains rising up to their left in stunning relief against the autumn sky, Alanna gave a war-cry and a resounding whoop of joy, and her companions knew that they must be nearing her birth-home. She circled round on Darkmoon, drawing closer to them, the grin broad and open on her face, violet eyes alive.

"Half a day's ride," she breathed. "Only half a day 'til Trebond."

George's grin was as broad as his wife's as he reached out, pushing strands of copper hair from her sweat-streaked forehead. Tenderness.

Daine watched the loving expression the Lioness shared with her husband, and felt envy, for the first time in a long time, rise up in the pit of her stomach. _Stop it,_ she told herself, irritated. _I don't begrudge Alanna a thing. _

But perhaps, perhaps, she wanted what the Lioness had for herself.

* * *

As reluctant as Alanna was to stop within what she saw as touching distance from her former home, she agreed that they needed to rest, if only to give their mounts respite.

Daine was glad for the moment of pause. Was it only that her mind seemed to run as fast as Cloud's hooves? She shook her head, trying to shake it of silliness, and led her pony to a tasty looking portion of grass.

_Where are you running off to?_ Could retorted when Daine slipped between the trees.

_Not running, Cloud,_ the girl replied. _Just breathing._

* * *

Numair knew it was time to find her.

Not just because he knew that they ought to be on the road again- Alanna, had she been a mare, would have been chomping at the bit- but because he knew that it was time he sought her out. Time to repair the silence between them.

Was it his imagination or did Cloud tilt her long head at him, and then in the direction of the trees beyond? Numair shrugged, biting back a small smile in the acknowledgement that he had long since stopped questioning the validity of animals' advice, particularly where their Daine was concerned; instead, he slipped through the trees.

When he found her he felt that his heart had slipped into his mouth. He swallowed the utterance that sprang readily to his lips, and instead took pleasure in the moment to watch her.

Daine lay sprawled out on her stomach on the grass, elbows wide and hands clasped in front, beneath her chin.

He heard murmurings and realised that she was exchanging words with a small rodent perched on the ground before her eyes. He heard the musical sound of her laugh and smiled, wondering if he would ever tire of the sound.

_No. Never._

When he had left them for a few moments longer to converse, Numair coughed gently to alert both squirrel and Daine to his presence. Her head whipped round in surprise, and then deep blue-grey pools widened as they met his. For a moment Numair thought he saw pleasure there, but then they retreated beneath a careful, composed stare. Truthfully, he thought, Daine had perfected the art of nonchalance. He had wondered how she was, in these last weeks, weeks in which they had barely spoken, barely touched. But gradually she had faded from his presence, an artfully presented look of impassive calm on her features whenever they met his.

Numair realised he wanted to make her laugh. He wanted to make her cry. He wanted to see her forehead dance, her lips twitch, her nose scrunch up when she was deep in thought. He wanted _something._

_Gods, but I have missed her._

"Daine." Her name felt good on his lips, though his voice was tight.

"Numair…"

She looked for a moment as if she would say something further, but finally shrugged her silence, and Numair smiled gently as he approached.

"May I?" He pressed his boot into the ground at her side.

"Yes, Numair…" Her voice lifted in surprise. "Since when have you asked permission to sit with me?" She laughed.

Numair eased his long body into the grass by her side and watched as she rolled from her stomach to her back. He tried to keep his gaze on her face, though the edges of his vision could not fail to notice the movement of her hips, the twist of her soft stomach, the way her breasts lifted as she raised hands to rest beneath her head.

His eyes took in all this, just as they dwelt on the purple smudge beside her mouth. A stain. And the grass in her thick curls. She looked truly like nature's child, Numair realised. _Wild. As her magic._

He wanted in that moment to tell her just how beautiful she was. Then, realising the ridiculousness of it all, he swallowed hard. Finally, instead he asked: "what did he have to say for himself?" His head cocked in reference to the now-departed squirrel.

Daine's lips met in a crooked smile. "She," he corrected him. Her gaze softened, glad to be with him again, glad that he was talking to her, glad that there was something he wanted to know of her. "She was telling me about her little ones. They're readying for the Big Cold."

"The Big Cold." Numair said the words with affection, and smiled. "Of course."

"And she brought me some berries."

Numair's smile broadened. "I can see that."

"Oh?" The blush rose in her cheeks as Daine lifted a hand quickly to her mouth, rubbing at the wrong side. He smiled as he watched, and decided not to tell her she had missed the sticky fruit's stain completely.

"Daine, I…"

Numair broke off, and Daine looked up at him, blue-grey pools imploring him to continue. Her heart fair ached with missing him, and now she had him here she didn't want to miss him again. Didn't want either of them to miss this moment.

"Yes, Numair?"

The mage turned dark eyes to her and Daine wondered at the intensity she saw there; it almost made her catch her breath.

He studied her a moment longer in silence before he spoke. "Daine, about before…" He sighed. "About Tamalt…"

"Tamalt?" His name caught on her voice. Could he hear the nerves she was trying to temper?

Numair looked away, eyes seemingly fixed on the trees beyond them. How to begin?

"Daine, I merely wanted to say…not, of course, that it is my place to validate your relationships, indeed to question them at all, but..."

_Relationships._ There was that word again. Daine winced, wondering how often it had crept up on her unknowingly.

"Numair…" She sighed, wishing he would look at her. _Goddess, but is that what all this is about? _"There is no relationship to question."

He swung his face to meet hers, finally, brightness lighting up the black of his gaze. This time she did catch her breath; how could she have spent these last years and not realised quite _how_ beautiful he was? Her mage. Her _Numair. _

"Is there not?" he asked softly.

"No." _Not yet._ But she didn't want to tell him that. Suddenly she wanted to strip any mention of Tamalt, any thought of him from his mind.

"I thought…before, on the beach…" Numair cleared his throat, not sure how to finish.

"You thought wrong." Daine was surprised at the strength of her voice, at the huskiness of it.

Even more, she was surprised by her own brazenness as she reached out, suddenly, grabbing his fingers and squeezing them tight. His skin beneath her touch was hot; she could feel his pulse in their stilled hands.

"Wrong," she whispered, her voice scratching as her thumb pressed into his wrist. "Wrong."

Numair swallowed, looking down at her hand, clutching his own. "Gods, Daine…"

His heart beat rapidly in his chest as he leaned forward. And then, before he had time to think, before rational thought could invade, his other hand was in her hair, pulling at the grass that was intertwined with her dark curls. Anything to touch her.

Daine smiled up at him, at his face suddenly so close to hers. Her lips trembled beneath his gaze, and his eyes were suddenly incredibly tender.

Numair's hand slipped gently down her cheek, his thumb stroking her chin for a moment. "You missed," he told her gently, eyes dancing.

"I…I what?" Daine looked at him, confused, wondering how she could focus on anything with her brain all befuddled, with his eyes on her, with him so close…

And then his thumb gently stroked the corner of her mouth, and she wanted to watch, but her eyes were gripped by his and she could not look away.

"You missed the berry juice," he whispered, thumb rubbing at the skin until his own was streaked with purple. And then, with no reason at all, he moved his thumb slowly, _slowly_, across her bottom lip, feeling it soften and pucker under his touch, feeling the hiss of her breath against his knuckles as her mouth opened in surprise.

In more than surprise.

Daine almost shook at his touch. How could so simple a gesture move her so much? she wondered. How could such a simple touch spread like heat through her limbs, as if she felt him, the _presence_ of him, in her stomach, in the tips of her fingers, between her legs…

Numair could not help himself. His ears hammered, as if they sought to shut out the world. Pushing all rational thought, all suggestion of screaming indignation from his mind, he revelled in the moment. Revelled in _her._

Leaning over her, he could feel himself harden in response to the feel of her beneath his hand, and was glad suddenly for his cloak which he had worn for the cold, but now hid his baser side, his own body's natural response.

There was heat in his eyes as he tugged with his thumb on her bottom lip, as if opening her up for him, and his gaze moved over her face, taking in her mouth, full and soft, her tongue, now visible and lifted; her pink cheeks newly tinged with the rush of blood, her eyes…

"Daine," he whispered in a voice that broke.

Numair felt her hand which still clutched at his own tighten and then tug, bringing him closer to her. He leaned forward, letting the fingers of his other hand tuck under and stroke the skin of her neck as his thumb continued to graze her lip.

His face was so close to her own, so close that he imagined he could feel the heat of her breath against his cheek.

"Numair…" Daine reached a shaking hand to his hair, slipping in between the dark strands and holding him, suddenly not sure if she was drawing him closer or keeping him at bay.

"Numair?" Her eyes widened. Suddenly he was so close and she could feel him, but more, she could see something in his eyes…For a moment she flashed back to that night in his rooms when she had walked in on him and that woman, on the heat that she had seen in his eyes. She saw it now, but oh, so much _more…_

There was a terrible, burning excitement in his gaze, a strength which almost stripped her bare. _Goddess,_ she thought, and trembled. He desired her. Oh, but he desired her…

She was both seduced and terrified by what she saw in the depths of his dark gaze, terrified by what she imagined to be mirrored there from her own, yearning expression…

What she saw both terrified and moved her, making her gasp.

Numair froze, face so close to hers, eyes gripped to her own. His thumb stilled in its caress of her mouth, as if he had been readying it for his own lips. His fingers tightened on her neck as he stared at her.

He had seen desire in her gaze, and it had made him burn; now what could he see?

_Fear? Mithros, no. _

The breath caught in his chest and Numair examined her, eyes scouring her face. She was breathing hard against his fingers, her eyes wide, dark pupils huge in their sea of blue.

Desire. Desire but something else.

Gods, but had he scared her?

Numair's movements were sharp as he quickly withdrew his hand from her face, pulling at the fingers of his other hand to extract them from her still-vice-like grip. He sat back.

"Daine…" This time as he spoke, his voice was broken, and he struggled to vocalise through his own ragged breathing. "Daine, I'm so sorry…"

"_Numair?" _Daine looked at him in confusion. Inside, something wailed. He had risen something in her, he had planted something in her and it had grown, he had given her something, something wonderful, and now he was taking it away?

Wordlessly her eyes looked at his hand, at the thumb stained in purple juice, the thumb that had touched her in a way that had sent coils of heat all the way down her body…

What was wrong? What had her eyes betrayed? She found his, and wondered at the guilt she could see there. Had she put that there?

"Numair, don't, I…" She reached for him but he withdrew, lifting his long body quickly, ungracefully, lurching to his feet.

His eyes were almost wild as they looked down at her. "I shouldn't…I don't…" She watched, enthralled and somehow unable to speak as he broke off, clenching his jaw. She could see the muscles flex beneath his swarthy skin. "Daine," he said finally. "Forgive me."

He dragged his pained gaze from her, and turned, beginning to walk briskly in the direction of the road.

_No…_Inside, she wailed.

Her own voice felt heavy in her chest and she couldn't dig it out to call after him. To make him stay.

_Numair, come back. Come back._

He was already slipping through the trees, away from her.

* * *

Alanna and George both saw a pale Numair emerge from the tress, followed minutes later by a pink-skinned Daine, but knew better than to comment.

Only Tamalt's eyes narrowed in his unspoken question as his gaze flitted from mage to student, and back again.

Daine busied herself with re-saddling Cloud, finding comfort from the mare as she laid her trembling fingers under her mane, whispering things she couldn't even remember in the pony's ears. She could _sense_ Numair behind her, with the others, but dared not turn around.

_What am I afraid of? That I will see that wonderful, terrifying desire in him? Or that I won't?_

She tried to swallow the thought, gripping hard as she mounted, ignoring Cloud's indignant retorts, keeping her gaze rigidly fixed to Alanna in front of her on the road, and riding hard and fast into the wind.

* * *

Trebond was beautiful.

Numair stood in the study of the former Lord, Alanna's father, and gazed from the window onto the fields below.

From what he gathered, this had not been a home to Alanna for years, but he still wondered how she had managed to part with it. He thought, fleetingly, of his own Tower, his solitary peak overlooking the waves.

They were all, so very often, so very far from home.

And yet, somehow, when he looked down at _her_, at Daine, head thrown back and a ripple of her musical laughter rising in the damp air, he thought that she looked very much _at home._ It was her uncanny ability, he realised, to totally inhabit a place, to be at ease in so many surroundings. So unlike the girl who had first come under his tutelage.

"Penny for your thoughts, mage?"

The dry voice broke Numair from his reverie, and he turned momentarily to smile before turning back to the window. "George." He paused. "I was merely admiring the view."

George moved easily across the room to stand by his side. Numair could feel his gaze assessing him, and thought- not for the first time- that for all his charm, Alanna's husband could be a remarkably sharp and unnerving presence if he chose to be.

"And it is a pretty view. Particularly that one." George's eyes fixed to the field below the stable, to the east, where Daine, Tamalt and a steward leaned against a fence.

Numair coloured, wondering if George really knew just what- who- he had been gazing down at. He turned swiftly, leaving the window behind and folding his long body into an elegant, velvet-covered sofa several feet away.

"Now we have arrived in Trebond, how quickly will Jon put us to work?" he asked quickly.

George's lips twisted into the barest hint of a smile, revealing that he was aware Numair was trying to change the non-existent, unspoken subject. "Very soon, I would imagine," he responded jovially, eyes dancing. And then he paused. "Isn't it a boon to have Maren's pet mage with us? Tamalt has quite a Gift, if my lads' tales are to be believed."

Numair's lips tightened momentarily. He could not quite keep the irritation from his voice. "He is a Black-Robe, George. I think that alone should be an adequate representation of his power without resorting to tavern tales and gossip."

George's smile broadened almost imperceptibly. "That it does, lad. You should know, of course."

"I should…?"

"Being one yourself, and all." George paused. "And being the subject of tales and gossip in your own right."

Numair stilled. "What gossip might that be, George?"

Alanna's husband turned, looking back out of the window, and Numair wondered what he could see. "Come, Numair, we're both men," he said affably. "You know the type of word that spreads…"

Numair raised one elegant, dark eyebrow. "Do we speak of intimate matters, George?"

George laughed, and Numair was disconcerted to find it both warm and knowing. "Don't speak to me like you speak to your courtly ladies, Salmalín."

"As you will. We're talking about sex, then."

George's gaze when he met Numair's was carefully impassive. "I don't know, Numair. Perhaps you should tell me."

Numair sighed, letting his irritation show. "I don't want to play games, George, whatever's eating at you may I suggest that you voice it and be done? Then we can all get back to the pleasantries of our stay."

"Very well." George met his dark eyes unflinchingly with his own, more open hazel gaze. "My lass implied that your Daine and Tamalt were getting friendly. I wondered what you thought about that."

Numair gripped the armrest with one large hand, wondering which part of George's speech to unpick first. "She's not _my Daine," _he muttered, and then, seeing George's sharp eyes, thought that perhaps it hadn't been the most sensible reply.

Vocally, at least, George pretended to have ignored his muttered retort. "Is she safe with him? Or do we need to worry that he's taking unfair advantage of the lass?"

Numair closed his eyes briefly. He felt sick. Clearly George had placed him, them both, in the position of elder guardian to Daine. _Mithros._ He was right, it was his job to _protect_ Daine from men and their wayward desires, not give in to them himself and throw himself at her…

That line of thought only brought him back to that afternoon- as if he had been able to thrust it from his mind for long- and the image of her, supine on the grass, first full of desire and then…fear. Numair swallowed hard. The guilt ate away at him inside like a terrible parasitic force. And now this. This was his punishment.

Numair realised that George was examining him carefully and he blinked, trying to keep his wayward thoughts at bay for the moment. _Just get through this. Just get through this gods-awful, careful 'chat.'_

Him, Numair, as Daine's protector. Oh, the irony…

"I don't know Tamalt well enough to know his intentions," he bit out finally, forcing himself to meet George's intense stare.

"And what about Daine?"

Numair's breath halted. He wanted to say he _did_ know her well enough to be able to read what she wanted from Tamalt, what she was willing to give him. But he wasn't sure any more. "I don't know," he admitted finally, quietly, painfully. "But she told me there was nothing between them." He shrugged, trying to appear more carefree than he was. "That doesn't mean _he_ doesn't want there to be."

George nodded once, slowly. "She's a wily lass. I imagine she can take care of herself. And I doubt this has been the first time a man more experienced than her has shown an interest."

Inside, Numair shuddered. Outside, he hoped his eyes were shuttered, his expression carefully blank. "No," he managed. "It's not the first time."

George crossed his arms across his chest, staring down at his companion from his perch by the window, his own expression for the moment irritatingly unreadable.

And then the awful words came.

"So do you plan to tell her? Or will you simply continue to gaze at her from afar and throw daggers at the back of any man who does the same?"

Numair blanched. His blood ran cold as his body froze in its position. He could feel his heartbeat thudding hard in his ears.

"I don't know what you mean," he whispered.

Struggling to compose himself, Numair remembered with a jolt that George had referred to gossip about _him_, not Tamalt, though the man had geared the conversation so effortlessly towards this moment that he had been too caught up to realise it. He'd been had, well and truly _had_. George was a tactical man, and Numair had fallen right into his bloody trap.

"Don't think me a fool, Numair," George said quietly. "I may not have your Gift, or my lass's fighting skills, but I wager I'm a man of the world, and if I couldn't see another man's true wanting beneath his mask, I'd have been a dead Rogue long afore now."

"I want to protect her," Numair retorted desperately. Perhaps he could still salvage this. George could not know. He _must _not know.

"I didn't say ye didn't. Only, that's not all you want, is it, lad?"

Numair shut his eyes. "I don't know what gave you this ridiculous idea, George." When he opened his eyes and looked up, George was fixing him with a knowing stare.

"It's not so ridiculous is it?"

"I'm her _teacher_!" The word, as it emerged from his lips, felt awful, as if wrenched from his gut. It felt like a betrayal. A betrayal of him, a betrayal of her. Gods, what had he done?

George only shrugged calmly, as if he had no idea of Numair's inner turmoil. "Not all men would be as honourable as you. Daine's a pretty girl."

_A girl. A girl. _The world rattled through his brain as images of her swam in front of his dark eyes. _Honourable…_If possible, he now felt even more sick.

"I'm not…" He stopped, abruptly, realizing he had been about to tell George he wasn't as honourable as the man thought. Then he caught the man's shrewd expression and knew that _that_ was exactly what he had been banking on.

No. George could not know. Nobody could know. It would ruin everything. He would lose her, if he hadn't already.

_I cannot lose her. Nobody must know._

Numair took a deep breath to help prepare himself for the lie. When he spoke, it was in clipped, short tones, only the harsh undertones of his strained voice revealing the difficulty with which he said the words.

"She's fair enough, I suppose. Not my type, though, George, if we're speaking bluntly."

George froze, and Numair realised he'd caught the man off guard. Whatever he had been expecting, it was not _this. _

The man recovered quickly from his surprise, giving Numair an assessing glance. "That may be true," he admitted carefully.

_Both_ men knew that Numair had dallied with ladies of the court, ladies who, in truth, looked and behaved very little like the girl in question.

"But…" His steely gaze returned. "All men change. I hadn't a thing for fiery redheads before I met _my _lass."

Numair grit his teeth. George wasn't going to let this go. "That's different," he rasped. "Alanna is a woman, all woman. Daine is just a girl. I'm not interested in _teenagers,_ George, what do you take me for?"

George's eyes narrowed. "Alanna was a girl when I met her." He paused, a flicker of humour showing in the hazel gaze. "Okay, so she was a _boy_ when I met her." His lips twitched. "Besides, maybe Daine is more a woman than you give her credit for. The lass has changed a lot, these last years. She's had to."

Numair's throat tightened and he looked away, wondering if he would be able to manage words. Finally he swallowed and stumbled on. _Finish this. Finish it. _

"She's a good student," he managed, hoping George could not hear the rasp in his unsteady voice. "Her magic has enthralled me, it's true. And I'm sure she'll make someone a good match someday." He stopped, swallowing once more. "But she'll never be more than a little girl in my eyes."

And with that he stood, abruptly, refusing to meet George's surprised but still-questioning gaze. With legs that felt unsteady beneath him, he stumbled towards the large mahogany bookcase in the far wall of the study. The words on the spines swam before his eyes, so he picked a book at random and begin rifling through it with trembling fingers, hoping that George would simply disappear.

There was silence, except for the sound of turning pages, and finally Numair glanced round.

The light-footed man had left as easily as he had appeared, and the mage breathed a sigh of relief into the empty room; if he had indeed succeeded in his aim, he wondered why he felt so bloody _awful_.

* * *

"They're in the former Lord's study," said the steward.

Daine smiled her thanks and jumped down from her perch on the fence. "Will you direct me?"

The steward bowed stiffly. "Certainly, m'lady."

Daine's lips twitched at the formality, and turned to look up at Tamalt. "Are you coming?" she asked him as they began walking towards the buildings.

Tamalt gave a mock-sigh. "The _Library._ No doubt my former companion is already fast at work investigating any potential Immortal issues. Ah well, this _was_ what your dear King enlisted me for. Lead the way," he called on to the steward, who was already far ahead and ignored the quip, and then gave his arm to Daine.

"M'lady," he intoned in a mock-serious voice, bowing over their entwined arms awkwardly as they walked.

Daine laughed lightly, but her attention was only superficially grabbed by Tamalt's theatrics. How could she concentrate on her Marenese friend when she was about to see Numair?

_Numair. _The man who had been ignoring her all afternoon, but who had only hours before touched her mouth in the most erotic way she could ever imagine. In a way she'd not even _thought_ to imagine.

There were butterflies, little ripples of nervous excitement in her belly as they followed the steward through the building and up the grand staircase.

_What will I say to him?_ she wondered breathlessly. _What will he say to me?_

It occurred to her, then, that they had spent the past weeks dancing around each other, as if there had been something large and looming between them. But it had arisen now, there was no more avoiding it. _I…I am attracted to him,_ she made herself vocalise internally, feeling a little thrill shudder down her spine as the heat rushed to her face, and to her lips, where his thumb had grazed, stroked, _caressed._

_And maybe, just maybe, he is attracted to me?_

Daine was brought quickly back to the present as the steward cleared his throat loudly and gestured to the room at the end of the corridor. Red-faced, Daine wondered if her desire had been written clear all over her face. She mumbled her thanks and hurried towards the door, Tamalt at her side.

The door was ajar and Daine's hand was already on the rich, cool wood to push it further open when she heard her name from inside the room, and instinctively froze.

"_Not all men would be as honourable as you. Daine's a pretty girl."_

Daine's blush deepened, her eyes widening as she recognised George's warm drawl. Her head shot quickly to the side and she looked up, startled, into Tamalt's face. The mage had stopped abruptly by her side, and now looked down at her, an uncomfortable expression on his face.

"Daine," he whispered, gripping her elbow. "Let us go. No good was ever done listening at keyholes."

Wordlessly, Daine shook her head. Her feet were planted solidly to the ground and she knew, in that moment, that she could not move.

And then she heard the next words, and felt her heart sink into her stomach.

"_She's fair enough, I suppose. Not my type, though, George, if we're speaking bluntly."_

Daine shut her eyes, knowing Numair's light baritone intimately, wondering at his casual tone. Did he know he was ripping at her heart with every word? Of course not, he didn't even know she was there.

Daine swallowed back the tears which tore up at the back of her eyes. Her mouth felt hot, sticky. _Well,_ she told herself. _You wanted answers. Now you're getting them. Now you're getting the truth._

Tamalt tugged at her arm again, more insistently, but she would not look up at him. "No," she whispered, voice remarkably calm in her own ears. "Leave me be, Tamalt."

If she had looked up then, she would have seen Tamalt's stricken expression, but as it was she could barely see a thing. Her vision blurred as she stared at the oak door before her, still listening to the conversation inside.

…"_She's a good student… Her magic has enthralled me, it's true. And I'm sure she'll make someone a good match someday. But she'll never be more than a little girl in my eyes."_

For a moment Daine was very, very still. Inside, something was screaming, but she held it at bay, crushing and banishing it to somewhere deep inside her gut. And then she gasped.

She had to get out of here. He couldn't know; he couldn't know that _she_ knew. Gods, but how awful to see the look of embarrassment on his face if he realised she'd heard his casual dismissal of her. How could she ever face him if he knew?

And then she was tugging at Tamalt's arm, as he had done to her, pulling at him urgently until he followed her, wordlessly, away from the study and back towards the staircase.

"_She'll never be more than a little girl in my eyes…"_

As Daine hurried down the stairs, unshed tears screaming behind her blue-grey eyes, she wondered if she would ever be able to shed those taunting words from her mind.

She wondered, fleetingly, why her heart hurt as much as it did. Didn't people talk about hearts breaking?

If so, it was done. It was done.

* * *

Tamalt heard the soft knock at the door of his guest room at Trebond, and looked up with a frown. It was late.

With a sigh he left his chair and paced to the door, pulling it open.

It was Daine.

Tamalt started, taking in her blood-shot eyes and tangled hair, the tremble of her lips against the stubborn chin she thrust forward in defiance.

"Daine?"

She pushed past him, and into his room, all propriety forgotten, or abandoned. "Tamalt."

"Daine, I…" He cut off with a sigh, not sure what to say. He had tried to talk to her this afternoon but she had run from him almost as quickly as she had run from outside the study, and he had let her go. What choice did he have?

And now here she stood, and he was not sure _what_ he could do to repair the look of pain that had settled on her exquisite face.

Daine watched the flicker of Tamalt's eyes and knew that he was debating what to do about her. She wouldn't let him decide to turn her away, not now. She thrust her chin forward further to belie the sick feeling in her stomach, and the trembling in her hands which were clutched to her side, fingernails biting half-moons into the flesh of her palms.

She had expected to feel her heart race hard in her chest, but truth be told her heart felt very far away. Vaguely she wondered if it would ever feel the same.

"Tamalt." She cleared her throat, trying to banish the nerves from her voice, and took a step closer to him.

"Daine." He looked at her intensely, a small frown playing across his broad mouth. She wondered, fleetingly, if she had seen it before. Unlike the rest of them, Tamalt more often than not seemed to be smiling. "I'm not sure it's a good idea for you to be in here, Daine. It's late and…"

She took a step closer, and in the faded light of the candle that flickered beside his bed, he could see the glint of tears in her blue-grey eyes.

"It's late and what?" she whispered, now close enough that if he reached out he could touch her.

"Daine…"

"And what?" she asked again, her whisper more insistent, so that he could hear the thread of pain beneath the words.

"Daine." Tamalt reached out both hands to steady her, resting on her shoulders and holding firm, but she only closed her eyes for a moment before she looked up at him, a half-smile playing on her mouth.

"Please, Tamalt," she whispered, eyes wide as they flicked over his face.

Tamalt didn't want to, but he felt himself flush under her gaze, and was suddenly aware of the feel of her strong, curved shoulders under his palms. He knew he should turn her away now, but something was rooting him to the spot.

"Please what?" he found himself asking her, eyes darkening as they studied her intently.

Daine swallowed hard. "Please teach me," she whispered. "I don't want to be a little girl any more."

And then, before the significance of her echoed words had time to register through the shock, she had sprung through the distance between them, until her body was so close to his that he could feel her legs, stomach, chest against his own, and her hands reached up to grab purchase on his shirt.

"_Please…" _

Tamalt swallowed hard as the hiss of the breath from her upturned face brushed the exposed skin at his neck.

With trembling fingers she raised a hand to his mouth, drawing a line on his lower lip before pulling away with a half sob, returning to wrap her hands in his brown curls, bringing his face down to hers.

And then, gods help him, he was kissing her. He hadn't meant to, had meant to turn her away, but then she was so close, and she was touching him, and he could smell lavender and grass in her hair…

"_Daine…_" His own hands now held her chin and he pulled back to look at her; but she would not meet his gaze.

"Sshh," she whispered, pulling him closer again and pressing her lips firmly to his. She wanted to feel his stubble against her face; she wanted to feel the point of his teeth against her tongue; she didn't want _tenderness_, not now.

Finally, thankfully, he seemed to understand, and then he was pulling at her shirt, and she was helping him, desperate. Her fingers shook as she tried to unbutton the simple cotton, and then he helped her, making quick work of it and shoving it back from her shoulders as she pulled at his own, tugging it from his breeches.

Tamalt slowed, wanting to explore the skin he bared beneath his palms, but Daine shook her head, eyes over-bright, and pulled away from him momentarily to begin pulling off her breeches with cold hands and fingers that resisted her will. He watched, confused, as she cursed under her breath, and then he reached for her again, pulling her near-naked body close to him and burying his face in her curly hair.

Tamalt felt his own heart thudding, as his body responded to her, pressed so close against him, and he allowed his hands to move over her back, down her sides, until he grasped her hips and pulled her, almost roughly, even closer to him. There, let her see what she did to him…Inside his breeches he was hard, and pressed firmly against her belly. He moved against her.

Daine froze. Against her, Tamalt stilled, waiting, and then heard the rush of a sob against his chest. And then, from total stillness, she was shuddering, her body racked with sobs, and she shook, weeping.

_Mithros…_Inwardly, Tamalt cursed himself and his own desires, cursed the whole blasted situation, cursed Numair for hurting her, cursed _her_ for her foolish, wilful action.

And then he pulled back slightly so there bodies were not pressed quite so intimately together, and raised his arms to settle more protectively around her shoulders as she wept into his chest.

"Oh, Daine," he sighed, looking down at her. Women had cried in his bedchamber before, but normally out of desire, not desperation, he thought with wry resignation.

He gathered her in his arms and she allowed him to, not pulling away, but lying limply against him as he carried her over to the bed and laid her gently down. And then, embarrassed by her hasty state of undress, lying there in only her loincloth and breastband- though she seemed now beyond embarrassment- he reached out to pull a sheet over her before he moved and sat on the other side of the bed at a safe distance.

"Daine…." he tried gently, resting a warm hand on her shoulder.

Her sobs slowed, until her body stilled, and she turned, pressing her face into his pillow.

"Gods, Tamalt, I'm sorry, I don't know what I…" She broke off, as if to cry again.

"Sssshh," he comforted, lifting the hand to pull back tangled curls from her sweat-streaked forehead. "It's alright. It's alright…"

Daine's eyes were squeezed shut, and he heard the rough sound of her breathing, knowing that she was desperately trying to hold back more tears. Every now and then a sharp, uncontrolled movement would emerge and she would flinch, or a half-sob would tear from her throat, but he kept his hand in her hair, stroking gently and murmuring to her.

Eventually, he nearly _felt_ the tension escape her body, until it stilled, and she was asleep.

* * *

Numair took the stairs two at a time as he raced up to the west wing where George had told him to find Tamalt's guest room.

He cursed on a half breath. _Gods' damnation…_

They had only just arrived the afternoon before, and thank the gods they had, because George had heard word at dawn this morning from one of his spies that a Scanran noble was amassing an Immortal army with aims to wreak havoc on the Tortallan border. Hopefully between them, he, Alanna and Tamalt could begin to build a magical boundary around the fief in question, once they knew what they were dealing with…

Finding the room, Numair gathered his breath as he waited for the knock to be answered.

Nothing. He cursed again, and then pushed on the handle; this was no time for politeness, Tamalt was necessary, and he was necessary _now._

"Tamalt," he called out loudly as he pushed through the door into the bedchamber.

And then he froze. Clothes were scattered over the floor, and the sheets were crumpled. Beneath them, he saw two slumbering forms. And he knew.

Suddenly Numair felt very, very cold.

And he wondered, fleetingly, if this was what dying would feel like, when the Black God finally came for him.

* * *

Daine could hear the rumble of something outside her realm of consciousness, and resisted it. But then the sound was louder, and she moaned quietly, raising weary hands to wipe at her eyes.

Beside her, she felt Tamalt sit up in bed, and she kept her eyes closed, not quite ready to look at him.

Except, then he spoke. "Numair…good morning."

Daine's heart leapt as she sat up, suddenly, and then quickly pulled the sheet up to cover her breasts as she looked up at the mage standing in the doorway.

Her teacher. Her friend. Her…_Numair_.

For a moment his dark eyes bore into hers, and the experience was terrifying; her mouth slid open in surprise.

His eyes flashed once more, and she struggled to absorb what she found there; but he only looked away, his face coldly calm. "Tamalt. You're needed. Downstairs. Now."

And then, without looking at her again, without another word, Numair turned on his heal and walked out of the room, leaving the door wide open at his back.

"Oh gods," she whispered, clutching at the sheet. "Oh gods…"

Beside her, Tamalt was still.

"Oh gods," she said again.

Tamalt sighed. "You said that already." He paused. "I think we…I should go down."

Daine nodded, clutching the sheet to her chin. "Go," she whispered. She shut her eyes as he dressed hurriedly in the corner, bent over herself in a kind of self-protection that had come much, much too late.

She was broken. She was ripped apart. Everything ached.

She was alone.

Tamalt had closed the door behind him, and now the silence in the room was deafening.

"Oh Gods," she whispered, crumpling back into the bed, to nothing and no-one but herself.

And then, in the silence, the tears found her again.

They would not let her go.

* * *


End file.
